ON  THE  ROAD 
TO  ARDEN 


^Margaret  eMovse 


ON   THE    ROAD    TO    ARDEN.      Illustrated,     xarno, 

#1.00  «rf.     Postage  extra. 
THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PINES.     i6mo,  fi.oo. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 


ROSALIND   AND   CELIA 


On  the  Road 
to  Arden 

BY 

MARGARET  MORSE 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 
HAROLD    M.    BRETT 


Boston  and  Nenv  York 

Hougbton  Mifflin  Company 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,    1909,   BY  MARGARET  F.  MORSE 
ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  March  iqcx) 


CONTENTS 

I.    A  PILGRIMAGE  is  DISCUSSED       .         .       i 
II.    WE  GO  A-MAYING        .         .         .         1 1 

III.  THE  MONSTER  APPEARS    .         .         .21 

IV.  WE  ARE  CORDIALLY  RECEIVED  .  37 

V.    THE  FOREST  GIVES  us  WELCOME         .     53 

VI.     WE  ARE  NOT  ALONE  IN  THE  WlLDER- 

NESS      ......       62 

VII.    WE  FIND  SOLACE  IN  Music    .         .          75 

VIII.     WE  JOURNEY  FORWARD       .  .  .86 

IX.    A  PAUSE  IN  THE  JOURNEY     .         .  114 

X.    I  FIND  A  NEW  FRIEND      .         .  .136 

XI.    AN  ALTAR  AMONG  THE  HILLS        .  170 

XII.   THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS  .   189 

XIII.  MY  SANCTUM  is  INVADED      .         .  208 

XIV.  WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD  .    21 8 

XV.   WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON      232 
AFTERWARD 251 


2137314 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Rosalind  and  Celia  .  .          (Page  54)  Frontispiece 

This  is  my  friend  Orlando      .          .          .  jo 

I  don't  believe  you  love  adventure  as  I  do         .          92 
Oliver  teased  me  for  reading  Arnold          .  .  204. 

Rosalind  in  front  with  Orlando    .          .          .        248 


A  PILGRIMAGE  IS  DISCUSSED 

.   .   .   Now  go  we  in  content 
To  liberty  and  not  to  banishment. 

As  You  Like  It. 


HE  other  morning,  when  I 
went  to  see  the  Child,  I 
knew  at  a  glance  that  some- 
thing was  amiss.  She  is  a 
creature  of  infinite  moods,  this  illusive 
person,  which  she  strives  to  conceal  from 
the  world  in  general.  But  with  all  her 
cleverness  she  cannot  deceive  me.  For 
this  I  claim  no  power  of  astuteness, 
merely  the  understanding  which  springs 
from  love.  So,  when  a  brave  smile  flick- 
ered across  a  tear-stained  face,  and  she 
remarked  that  it  was  a  pleasant  day  while 
it  rained  quite  busily,  I  took  her  swiftly 
to  task. 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"What's  gone  wrong?"  I  said,  and 
I  drew  her  down  on  the  window-seat 
beside  me. 

It  was  when  we  were  little  maids  at 
school  together  that  I  formally  took  into 
possession  this  child  of  mine.  She  was 
five  and  I  was  six.  She  wore  cherry-col- 
ored hair  ribbons,  which,  as  I  recall  the 
effect,  must  have  made  vivid  contrast 
with  her  auburn  curls.  It  was  for  this 
that  the  boys  were  calling  her  "  Red- 
top  "  when  I  interposed.  Long  ago  I 
learned  that  teasing  is  but  an  early  form 
of  masculine  attention,  for  ever  since  that 
day  the  Child's  cavaliers  have  given  me 
constant  concern.  I  now  surmised  that 
at  least  one,  if  not  more,  was  at  the  root 
of  her  distress. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  I  repeated 
quite  severely. 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  the  same 


A  PILGRIMAGE   IS   DISCUSSED 

innocence  which  won  her  way  into  my 
heart  all  those  years  ago. 

"  Ev-ery-thing,"  she  murmured.  Then 
she  handed  me  a  crumpled  yellow  en- 
velope. 

"  Rather  clever  of  the  Professor,"  I 
remarked,  looking  up  from  the  dispatch. 
"  I  did  n't  credit  him  with  such  execu- 
tive ability." 

Now  "  the  Professor  "  is  but  a  term 
given  in  irony  to  one  of  the  least  pro- 
mising of  all  the  suitors.  He  will  never, 
I  feel  sure,  become  anything  more  im- 
portant than  an  obscure  "assistant"  in 
an  obscure  Western  college,  but  he  has 
an  unbounded  confidence,  not  only  in 
his  powers,  but  in  his  personal  charms, 
which  is  irritating. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 
I  questioned. 

"There  is  nothing  to  do,  —  that 's  the 
3 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

provoking  part.  He 's  safely  on  his  way, 
and  will  be  here  to-morrow  afternoon." 

For  a  moment  I  did  not  speak.  A  pro- 
ject, daring  and  delightful,  was  evolving 
in  my  mind.  But  the  situation  was  criti- 
cal, and  must  be  handled  with  skill. 

"  You  will  marry  the  Professor  some 
day,"  I  remarked.  "  You  are  so  oblig- 
ing." 

Her  ire  was  justly  roused. 

"  Marry  a  man  with  hands  like  pin- 
cushions ! "  She  could  offer  no  retort 
more  scornful. 

Then  all  at  once  the  indignation  faded 
from  her  face,  for  a  far-away  look,  which 
I  have  grown  to  recognize,  was  dawn- 
ing. I  knew  my  ground.  No  longer  was 
I  uncertain  whether  it  was  the  coming 
of  the  undesired  suitor,  or  the  tarrying 
of  the  desired,  which  caused  her  unhap- 
piness.  Her  thoughts  belonged  to  some 
4 


A   PILGRIMAGE   IS   DISCUSSED 

distant  realm,  and  that  they  were  not  fol- 
lowing the  Professor  in  his  flight  across 
the  country,  I  felt  sure. 

Here  and  now  it  should  be  stated  that 
the  Child's  talent  for  adventure  is  pro- 
digious. Therefore,  when  some  weeks 
ago  she  came  home  from  abroad  and  told 
me  that  a  certain  man  whom  she  had 
met,  followed  her  upon  the  homeward 
voyage,  and  was  expected  any  day  in 
his  motor  car,  I  was  not  surprised.  Yet 
she  would  have  said  I  was  grieved,  for 
she  accuses  me  of  approving  only  those 
adventures  which  come  under  my  direct 
observation.  However  that  may  be,  my 
disapproval  increased,  for  day  by  day  the 
Child  grew  more  sad-eyed  and  wistful, 
awaiting  the  sound  of  the  chauffeur's 
horn,  and  the  smell  of  his  horrid  old 
gasoline.  For  this  failure  I  bore  him 
an  added  grudge.  The  man  who  falls 

5 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

in  love  with  the  Child  may  incur  my 
dislike,  but  the  man  who  does  not  is 
surely  a  contemptible  thing. 

"  You  care  no  more  for  him  than  for 
the  others,"  I  had  said  to  test  her,  when 
she  assured  me  that  this  time  she  was 
really  in  love. 

"  There  was  a  glamour  about  it  all 
which  you  mistook  for  reality,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

But  she  shook  her  head  at  my  sage 
remark. 

"  Confess,"  I  persisted, "  that  there  was 
a  moon  on  the  voyage." 

She  flung  back  her  head  and  laughed 
right  merrily. 

"  Of  course  there  was  a  moon,"  she 
agreed.  "  How  could  a  self-respecting 
voyage  exist  without  one?" 

Our  thoughts  were  now  roving  in  the 
6 


A  PILGRIMAGE   IS   DISCUSSED 

same  by-paths,  when,  quickly  divining 
this,  the  Child  glanced  guiltily  upward. 
Then  her  eyes  challenged  mine. 

"Are  you  planning  about  the  Pro- 
fessor ? "  she  innocently  asked. 

I  answered  the  challenge.  Then,  as 
my  actual  project,  with  all  its  allure- 
ment, flashed  again  into  mind,  I  sprang 
up  and  caught  her  by  the  shoulders. 

"Yes,"  I  cried.  "  Let 's  run  away !  " 

She  was  not  bowled  over  by  the  sug- 
gestion, possibly  because  it  was  not  alto- 
gether novel.  We  have  been  "  running 
away"  ever  since  we  were  in  pinafores 
and  seldom  strayed  farther  than  the  cor- 
ner of  our  own  street.  Her  expression 
changed  suddenly,  however.  A  curious 
little  shadow  flickered  across  her  face, 
telling  me  plainly  that  she  was  fearing 
he  might  come  in  our  absence.  Secretly 
I  was  hoping  he  would.  Disappoint- 
7 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

ment,  I  am  convinced,  injures  no  man; 
and  furthermore,  by  some  occult  reason- 
ing, I  knew  that  while  she  awaited  him 
he  would  not  come. 

The  Child  slid  her  hand  into  mine. 
"  You  would  n't  go  far  or  be  gone 
long  ? "  she  suggested. 

"  We  're  going  beyond  the  bounds 
of  time  and  space,"  I  answered  airily. 
"  We  're  going  a-Maying.  Spring  is  call- 
ing and  we  '11  answer  her.  You  're  Rosa- 
lind and  I  am  Celia,  and  we  're  seeking 
the  Forest  of  Arden." 

Her  eyes  shone  as  she  caught  my 
enthusiasm. 

"  A  pretty  boy  I  shall  be  in  doublet 
and  hose,"  she  laughed.  "  When  do  we 
set  forth  upon  our  quest,  and  do  we  make 
our  journey  on  foot,  fair  cousin,  or  by 
rail?" 

"Something  between  the  two,"  I  an- 
8 


A   PILGRIMAGE   IS   DISCUSSED 

swered.  "A  pair  of  fleet  steeds  is  stamp- 
ing and  neighing  in  the  stalls.  Oh,  I 
drove  them  yesterday,"  I  cried,  suddenly 
lapsing  into  the  commonplace,  "  way 
out  beyond  Riverton.  The  spring  mad- 
ness possessed  us,  and  we  raced  over  the 
ground  like  wild  things,  Nick  rushing 
alongside  and  barking  all  the  way.  They 
shied  at  every  shadow  in  their  path,  and 
made  sport  of  the  dandelions  by  the 
roadside.  They  refused  to  let  me  stop 
and  dabble  in  the  swamp  for  cowslips, 
or  to  see  if  the  hepaticas  were  blooming 
in  my  favorite  woodland.  In  short,  they 
are  in  a  lawless  mood,  and  nothing  will 
calm  them  but  a  journey  into  the  wil- 
derness." 

The  Child  laughs  at  my  fantasies,  but 
I  notice,  nevertheless,  she  accepts  them 
quite  readily. 

"  How  lucky  for  you  that  the  Pro- 
9 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

fessor  should  come  at  this  time,"  she 
now  observed. 

"  Lucky  for  you  that  you  have  a  de- 
voted slave  to  bear  you  away,"  I  re- 
torted. 

Then  I  sprang  up  joyfully  and  clasped 
the  Child  around  the  waist. 

"We  're  off  to  Arden,"  I  cried; 
"'therefore,  my  sweet  Rose,  my  dear 
Rose,  be  merry.' ' 

The  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched. 
" '  From  henceforth  I  will,  coz,  and 
devise  sports,'  "  she  quoted  quite  unex- 
pectedly. "'Let  me  see;  what  think 
you  of  falling  in  love  ? ' 

Then  we  both  laughed  with  happy 
anticipation;  for  the  spirit  of  Spring 
and  Youth  and  Adventure  was  rollick- 
ing in  our  veins. 


II 

WE  GO  A-MAYING 

Out  of  the  sound  of  the  ebb-and-flow, 

Out  of  the  sight  of  lamp  and  star. 
A  voice  calls  where  the  good  winds  blow, 

And  the  unchanging  meadows  are  : 
From  faded  hopes  and  hopes  agleam 

It  calls  you,  calls  you  night  and  day 
Beyond  the  dark  into  the  dream 

Over  the  hills  and  far  away. 

W.  E.  HENLEY. 

HE  ponies,  who  rejoice  in 
the  names  of  Star  and  Gar- 
ter, were  waiting  before 
the  door.  To  say,  however, 
that  they  waited,  is  scarcely  a  truthful 
term.  They  pranced  and  they  pirouetted, 
and  if  Garter  for  an  instant  lapsed  into 
repose,  he  was  nudged  reprovingly  by  the 
ever  active  Star.  She  has,  I  fear,  the  in- 
ii 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

stinct  of  her  sex  for  mischief-  making. 
She  has  many  faults,  such  as  conceit  and 
frivolity,  not  shared  by  her  placid  bro- 
ther, and  withal  she  is  the  more  fasci- 
nating and  lovable  of  the  two. 

The  Child  and  I  were  disposing  our 
modest  effects  under  the  seat  of  the  light 
trap,  and  it  was  this  delay  that  the  ponies 
resented.  Had  they  but  known  it,  their 
own  outfit  covered  far  more  valuable 
space  than  did  ours.  Rosalind  sprang  in, 
and  I  took  the  box-seat  beside  her,  gave 
a  glance  to  see  that  all  was  right,  that 
the  unwary  stable  boy  was  not  likely  to 
be  knocked  down  and  trampled  under 
foot,  caught  up  my  reins,  and  we  were 
off!  Nick,  the  Irish  terrier,  bounded  be- 
fore us. 

As  we  bowled  merrily  down  the  street 
I  cast  a  side  glance  at  my  companion, 
and  my  heart  warmed  with  pride  and 

12 


WE   GO  A-MAYING 

approval.  She  wore  a  suit  of  softest  brown, 
and  a  small  brown  bonnet  with  a  pale 
blue  wing  was  set  close  upon  her  shining 
curls.  Her  eyes — brown,  too,  and  of  the 
deepest,  most  tender  shade  that  Nature 
knows  how  to  bestow  —  smiled  joyously 
into  mine.  I  leaned  forward  and  tucked 
the  rug  more  closely  around  her,  with 
that  happy  sense  of  protection  which 
it  does  one  good  to  feel.  Then,  simul- 
taneously, we  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief 
and  satisfaction. 

It  was  an  unprecedented  thing,  this 
pilgrimage  of  ours,  and  therefore  the 
more  daring  and  delightful.  No  one  in 
either  of  our  families  had  ever  strayed 
so  far  from  the  beaten  path.  On  the  first 
day  of  June  each  year,  unless  it  fall  on 
a  Sunday,  we  conscientiously  pack  our 
household  goods  and  depart  for  our  re- 
spective homes  in  the  country.  Now, 
'3 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

contrary  to  all  custom,  here  were  Rosa- 
lind and  I  speeding  away  quite  three 
weeks  before  the  prescribed  time.  And 
therein  lay  half  the  charm  of  the  ad- 
venture. I  had  pondered  the  subject  se- 
riously, for  I  have  a  remnant  of  the  con- 
science which  sways  my  puritanic  family, 
and  I  decided  that  we  were  justified.  I 
had  worked  hard  all  winter.  I  am  inter- 
ested in  social  settlements,  and  Rosalind 
is  good  enough  to  say  that  I  have  a  tal- 
ent for  the  work.  Perhaps  she  is  partial. 
However  that  may  be,  she  does  not  pre- 
tend to  possess  this  talent  herself.  My 
attempts  to  enlist  her  in  the  ranks  were 
not  crowned  with  success. 

"  They  're  such  a  poor,  unfortunate 
family,"  she  told  me,  after  her  first 
charitable  visit,  "  and  so  bright  and 
cheerful  through  it  all.  They  were  all 
worn  out  after  their  work,  and  one  of 


WE   GO  A-MAYING 

them  was  so  exhausted  I  found  him 
stretched  upon  the  floor." 

Alas,  further  investigation  revealed 
the  fact  that  this  "bright  and  cheerful" 
family  were  all  quite  drunk.  Thus  ended 
Rosalind's  attempts  at  philanthropy. 

I,  however,  have  had  a  happy  winter 
in  my  work,  until  on  the  first  of  May  my 
duties  ended.  Meantime,  with  the  com- 
ing of  the  spring,  came  Rosalind,  mak- 
ing an  instant  demand  upon  my  faculties. 
And  herein  I  knew  that  I  was  needed, 
for  whatever  cares  kind  Providence  may 
see  fit  to  put  upon  me  in  life,  I  am  sure 
at  present  I  can  find  no  mission  more 
important  than  watching  over  the  Child. 
Lest  I  should  seem  entirely  unselfish  in 
this  matter  let  me  add  that  already  the 
spring  madness  was  creeping  into  my 
veins.  As  I  trod  the  city  streets  my  feet 
protested  against  the  hard,  unyielding 
15 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

pavement,  and  longed  for  the  friendly 
pressure  of  meadow-land.  The  tall  houses 
seemed  to  loom  above  me  in  a  menacing 
way,  hemming  me  in  and  shutting  out 
God's  clear  sky.  The  fact  that  it  lacked 
but  three  weeks  to  our  family  exodus 
did  not  mend  matters.  The  Shore  Farm, 
to  which  we  have  drifted  every  summer 
since  I  can  remember,  remote  from  all 
the  world,  with  green  fields  which  sweep 
downward  to  the  sea,  is  a  charming  place 
in  which  to  dream  one's  life  away. 

"  Are  n't  you  happy  there  ? "  kind 
friends  have  asked. 

"Happy?  Assuredly."  One  may  be 
happy  even  while  generating  into  a  nice, 
placid,  totally  uninteresting  vegetable, 
but  it  is  n't  just  my  idea  of  sharing  in 
the  fullness  of  life. 

So,  as  I  told  Rosalind,  when  I  drove 
into  the  country  the  other  morning  the 
16 


WE   GO  A-MAYING 

birds,  the  flowers,  the  awakening  life  in 
all  nature  called  me  with  voices  which 
could  not  be  denied. 

We  were  crossing  the  river.  Warm 
sunlight  danced  on  the  rippling  water. 
May  breezes  were  wafted  to  us  from 
fresh  fields.  Behind  us  rose  the  house- 
tops and  spires  of  our  native  city.  Be- 
fore us  stretched  the  undiscovered  coun- 
try, —  limitless,  mysterious.  The  Child 
and  I  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  The 
moment  was  too  solemn  for  speech ;  for 
in  whatsoever  else  we  may  differ,  we 
both  feel  at  such  a  time  the  need  of 
silence. 

Consider  us  selfish  if  you  must,  —  two 
maids  on  pleasure  bent, — but  pray  do 
not  forget  our  worship  of  the  beautiful, 
or  the  reverence  which  lay  in  our  hearts 
as  we  set  forth  upon  our  quest. 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

The  ponies  pattered  cheerfully  on- 
ward. They  have  a  remarkably  quick 
step,  these  little  creatures,  which  gives 
one  the  impression  of  rapid  travel.  Mo- 
tor cars,  —  horrid,  unnatural  things !  — 
to  which  I  am  a  sworn  enemy,  shot  by, 
but  we  were  not  envious.  In  fact,  the 
ponies  are  so  complete,  so  correct  in 
every  way,  that  one  cannot  imagine  de- 
siring a  different  form  of  motion  when 
in  their  company.  Star  pranced  and  cur- 
veted when  she  met  friends  of  her  own 
kind  upon  the  way,  or  tossed  her  small 
head  in  contempt  when  mechanical 
monsters  sped  by  us.  But  as  we  left  the 
city  behind  I  noticed  that  she  began  to 
droop.  I  have  long  suspected  her  of  a 
secret  contempt  for  country  quiet.  She 
is  never  so  happy  as  when  parading  city 
streets,  or  "showing  off"  on  the  tan 
bark.  I  did  n't  like  this  open  rebellion. 
18 


WE   GO  A-MAYING 

She  was  the  one  inharmonious  member 
of  the  party.  The  faithful  Garter  had 
settled  down  to  steady  work,  and  Nick 
was  enthusiastically  following  each  al- 
luring by-path.  I  gave  Star  a  light  clip 
with  the  whip  by  way  of  reproval,  at 
which  she  shook  her  head  indignantly, 
then  resumed  her  same  bored  manner. 

"  How  could  you  be  so  impertinent?" 
laughed  Rosalind,  who  is  always  amused 
at  Star's  independence. 

Thus  we  journeyed  merrily  on  until 
as  the  noonday  sun  grew  hot  we  turned 
into  a  peaceful  village  street,  where  tall 
maple  trees  cast  a  pleasant  shadow.  Be- 
fore a  quiet  inn,  with  white  pillars  and 
a  hospitable  porch,  we  drew  rein.  But 
we  did  not  linger  here.  We  drove  into 
the  shady  yard  to  be  sure  that  the  ponies 
were  comfortably  stabled,  and  I  made  up 
my  little  disagreement  with  Star.  She 
19 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

was  haughty  at  first,  but  finally  she 
rubbed  her  soft  nose  against  my  shoul- 
der, implying  that  she  would  forgive  me 
just  this  once. 

Then  arm  in  arm,  singing  for  sheer 
joy,  Rosalind  and  I  went  in  to  luncheon. 


Ill 

THE  MONSTER  APPEARS 

And  after  April,  when  May  follows, 
And  the  whitethroat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows! 
Hark,  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms  and  dewdrops.  — 

BROWNING. 


/<-        *!**    /^fc 


HE  poets  sing  of  sunrise  and 
the  dawn.  I  am  a  healthy 
person  who  knows  little  of 
the  sun's  rising,  but  the 
manner  of  his  setting  is  to  me  an  infi- 
nite delight  and  wonder.  Possibly  I  am 
even  inclined  to  suspect  that  when  "  the 
sun  looked  over  the  mountain's  rim," 
these  same  pale-browed  poets  were  sleep- 
ingsoundlyin  their  beds.  But  that  isskep- 
ticism,  and  I  waive  the  matter.  For  who 

21 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

could  have  doubts  on  any  subject  in  a  beech 
wood  where  tender  leaves  are  unfolding 
to  meet  the  spring  ?  A  light  so  pure  that 
it  must  have  sprung  from  heaven  itself 
bathed  the  gray  tree  trunks,  and  held  us 
in  its  gentle  embrace  as  we  journeyed 
this  May  afternoon  on  the  road  to  Arden. 

The  ponies,  knowing  that  supper  and 
a  night's  lodging  must  soon  await  them, 
pattered  busily  along,  hastening  their 
steps  and  pricking  up  their  ears  as  we 
approached  each  mysterious  curve.  It 
was  a  wonderful  winding  road,  and  who 
could  tell  what  treasures  it  might  con- 
ceal ? 

As  we  penetrated  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  woods  I  thanked  Dame  Nature 
that  she  had  given  me  a  discerning  nose. 
Sight  and  hearing  are  precious  posses- 
sions, but  the  smell  of  May  woods  with 
its  reminiscence  of  springs  past  and  its 
22 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

hints  of  springs  to  come  is  positively  in- 
toxicating. 

That  dusky  change  from  daylight  to 
dark  is  to  me  always  a  time  of  enchant- 
ment. The  birds,  remembering  that  this 
is  positively  their  last  chance  to  sing  be- 
fore another  dawn,  swing  in  their  tree- 
tops,  and  pour  out  their  hymns  of  praise. 
Perhaps  it  is  but  some  pagan  god  of  for- 
est and  field  they  worship,  but  surely 
their  whole  heart  is  in  the  song.  And 
who  would  not  sing  praises  could  he 
swing  among  the  branches  and  sweep 
through  the  air  as  they  do  ? 

Then  there  are  sounds  more  subtle, 
but  quite  distinct  to  the  sympathetic  ear, 
which  one  hears  in  that  last  wakeful 
hour  of  a  May  afternoon.  The  wind 
is  whispering  its  evening  lullaby  to  the 
trees,  and  all  the  young  growth  stirs  and 
responds  in  chorus.  And  as  the  shadows 
23 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

lengthen,  a  solemn  peace  and  stillness 
falls  like  a  benediction,  and  all  nature 
seems  to  kneel  in  prayer. 

Midnight  is  the  hour  for  confidences ; 
twilight  for  dreams.  So  as  Rosalind  and 
I  journeyed  on  together  through  this 
land  of  mystery  we  kept  our  thoughts 
to  ourselves.  Hers,  I  felt  sure,  as  I  cast 
a  glance  at  her  changing  expression,  were 
dreams  worthy  of  the  name.  First,  she 
was  happily  re-living  all  the  wonders  of 
the  voyage,  then  a  puzzled  frown  told 
me  that  for  the  thousandth  time  she 
was  searching  her  mind  for  an  explana- 
tion of  his  non-appearance.  Finally,  com- 
plete concentration  proved  that  she  was 
estimating  at  what  time  a  letter  (suppos- 
ing it  had  arrived  that  morning)  might 
be  expected  to  reach  her;  for,  despite 
the  fact  that  I  had  assured  her  there 
was  no  post  on  the  road  to  Arden,  she 
24 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

had,  I  know,  left  our  addresses  most 
carefully. 

"Don't  you  know  that  you  will  find 
your  love  letters  hanging  on  the  trees?" 
I  had  asked  her,  laughing. 

My  dreams,  as  we  traveled  in  the  twi- 
light, were  of  an  impersonal  nature. 
They  invariably  are.  Somehow  with  all 
my  love  of  romance  I  never  can  fit  my- 
self in  properly.  It  is  always  so  much 
more  interesting  to  have  fancies  about 
other  people.  So  I  was  making  plans 
for  the  summer  concerning  Lena  Do- 
nati  and  Manuel  Silva,  her  affianced  hus- 
band. I  am  fond  of  Lena,  and  I  con- 
sider Manuel  no  less  worthy  than  most 
men.  He  is  very  ardent,  and  sincerely 
anxious,  I  think,  to  make  a  good  home 
for  Lena.  But  he  is  delicate  and  quite 
unfit  for  city  work,  and  so  the  affair  has 
dragged  on  for  many  weary  months. 
25 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

What  solution  more  obvious  than  that 
I  should  get  them  married  in  June,  take 
them  to  a  little  cottage  on  the  Shore 
Farm,  and  establish  Manuel  as  gardener? 
Of  course  he  knows  nothing  of  garden- 
ing, having  spent  his  twenty-one  years 
of  life  in  city  streets,  but  I  am  sure  he 
must  inherit  a  hopeful  tendency  from 
forefathers  who  tilled  the  soil  on  their 
vine-clad,  Italian  slopes.  Perhaps  in  the 
course  of  time  I  could  teach  him  to  sail 
our  boat.  He  might  drown  the  family 
during  the  process,  —  but  why  borrow 
trouble  ? 

At  this  point  a  vision  of  the  Profes- 
sor, who  at  this  very  moment  must  be 
arriving,  and  expecting  to  lay  his  heart 
at  his  Lady's  feet,  flitted  through  my 
mind.  I  communicated  the  thought  to 
Rosalind,  and  I  fear  we  both  laughed. 
It  was  cruel  of  us  no  doubt,  but,  as 
26 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

Rosalind  said,  it  was  the  fact  that  he 
was  so  sure  that  she  was  eagerly  waiting 
to  pick  up  that  silly  old  heart,  which 
made  him  so  provoking. 

"The  little  surprise  won't  do  him 
any  harm,"  she  remarked,  "  and  before 
long  some  nice,  thoroughly  uninterest- 
ing girl  will  fall  in  love  with  him,  and 
make  him  perfectly  happy." 

We  were  absorbed  in  speculation  as  to 
just  what  manner  of  woman  this  should 
be.  My  reins,  I  fear, were  hanging  rather 
limply  in  my  lap,  not  held  with  the 
firmness  which  is  my  habit  in  the  thor- 
oughfare. But  who  could  be  blamed  for 
relaxation  under  the  circumstances  ?  We 
had  not  seen  a  vehicle  nor  a  living  soul 
since  leaving  Edgemere  early  in  the  after- 
noon, and  we  had  forgotten  that  in  this 
wilderness  it  was  possible  to  see  one. 
The  ponies  were  pulling  placidly  up  a 
27 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

little  hill,  with  bent  heads  close  together, 
and  goodness  knows  what  important 
problems  they  were  discussing,  when  of 
a  sudden  —  one  wild,  challenging  toot 
of  a  horn,  and  then  round  the  bend 
swung  a  great  touring  car,  and  at  a  ter- 
rific rate  bore  down  upon  us.  There  was 
no  time  to  gather  my  wits  together,  or 
my  reins,  before  Star,  indignant  at  the 
invasion  of  a  thing  so  out  of  place  in 
a  forest,  made  a  wild  plunge.  Of  course 
it  was  with  no  ill  result  to  herself,  the 
wily  creature,  but  she  jostled  against  her 
poor,  inoffensive  brother,  pushing  him, 
with  the  two  off  wheels  of  the  trap,  into 
a  ditch,  just  as  the  car,  with  no  room  to 
spare,  shot  by  us. 

I  have  a  confused  remembrance  of 

two  young  men  sitting  in  front,  —  one 

clinging  wildly  to  the  wheel  and  doing 

all  manner  of  things  with  his  feet.  Never 

28 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

having  considered  motorists  in  the  light 
of  good  Samaritans  I  supposed  that  after 
neatly  avoiding  collision  they  would  pass 
us  by  on  the  other  side.  Not  at  all !  And 
I  say  this  to  the  credit  of  the  hated  mon- 
ster. In  an  instant,  and  with  the  slight- 
est possible  protest  and  inward  turmoil, 
the  great  wild  creature  came,  just  be- 
yond us,  to  a  quiet  standstill.  Rosalind 
had  slipped  out  on  one  side  of  the  trap, 
I  on  the  other,  as  our  position  was  pre- 
carious. Mine  being  the  down  side,  I 
landed  in  the  ditch  among  soft  earth 
and  underbrush.  As  I  scrambled  up  I 
heard  an  eager  voice  call,  "  Are  you 
hurt  ?  "  and  seeing  a  very  distressed-look- 
ing young  man  springing  to  my  rescue 
I  answered  hastily,  "  Only  in  my  feel- 
ings." 

Then    I   pushed  in  a  few   hairpins, 
and  ran  to  see  what  harm  was  done  the 
29 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

ponies.  Our  rescuer  was  already  at  their 
heads,  calming  the  much  perturbed  Star, 
and  preventing  her  from  doing  damage 
to  poor  Garter,  who  was  quite  help- 
less in  the  squashy  ditch.  I  have  never 
thought  of  motorists'  having  any  partic- 
ular features,  but  when  this  one  pulled 
off  cap  and  goggles,  and  we  came  face 
to  face,  I  saw  he  had  a  sunny  smile  and 
clear,  kind  eyes.  Perhaps  he  noticed  my 
startled  expression. 

"We'll  fix  them  in  a  jiffy  ! "  he 
said  cheerfully,  quite  misinterpreting  my 
thoughts;  and  I  liked  his  voice. 

I  liked,  too,  the  masterly  way  in  which 
he  handled  the  ponies,  proving  himself 
at  once  a  horseman. 

"You  hold  this  one,"  he  said,  giving 

me  a  helping  hand  to  the  top  of  the 

bank  where  Star  was  prancing,  "  and  I  '11 

see  what  can  be  done  down  in  the  mud." 

30 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

I  obeyed  quite  meekly,  though  tak- 
ing orders  about  my  own  ponies  is  a 
thing  I  seldom  do.  There  are  some  per- 
sons one  relies  on  instinctively.  Nick, 
who  is  an  unerring  character  reader,  had 
already  sniffed  at  the  stranger's  boots 
and  pronounced  him  trustworthy. 

"  Hold  her  still !  "  came  the  com- 
mand from  the  ditch.  "I  can  manage 
this  part  of  it." 

"Quiet,  Star!  Steady,  old  girl!"  I 
said,  rubbing  her  nose  soothingly,  though 
I  felt  much  inclined  to  shake  her  for  her 
silliness. 

"  We  '11  have  to  unhitch  them,  shan't 
we  ?"  I  called  down.  For  the  carriage  had 
a  most  rakish  tilt,  and  Garter,  though 
still  placid,  seemed  partially  submerged. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  '11  pull  out 
just  as  they  are." 

He  was  lifting  the  wheels  from  the 
3' 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

soft  earth,  and  swinging  the  trap  into 
better  position. 

"  Give  your  pony  a  start,  then  look 
out  for  yourself!"  he  called. 

I  gave  Star  a  slap  on  the  side.  She 
sprang  forward  against  her  trace,  and  at 
the  same  instant  this  executive  person 
caught  Garter  by  the  bridle  and  simply 
rushed  him  up  that  bank.  There  was  a 
plunge  and  a  tug,  a  creaking  of  harness 
and  a  rattling  of  stones,  then,  breathless, 
we  gained  the  road  together,  —  two 
ponies,  two  human  beings,  a  barking 
dog,  and  in  the  rear  a  very  muddy  run- 
about. 

"  Good  for  you ! "  my  companion  con- 
gratulated me,  as  he  brushed  the  mud 
from  my  skirt. 

"  It  was  all  your  doing,"  I  answered 
quite  truthfully. 

The  ponies,  on  level  ground,  calmed 
32 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

down  immediately,  and  fell  to  cropping 
the  grass  by  the  roadside.  We  turned  to 
see  what  had  become  of  our  friends. 

"So  soon?''  I  murmured;  for  Rosa- 
lind had  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  and 
was  completely  absorbed  in  studying 
the  car,  every  inch  of  which  her  escort 
was  apparently  explaining.  As  he  pulled 
off  his  cap,  and  came  forward  rather 
apologetically,  I  thought,  I  looked  at 
him  with  some  curiosity,  for  it  occurred 
to  me  that  Rosalind  had  been  with  him 
at  least  five  minutes,  and  I  knew  their 
intimacy  must  be  far  advanced. 

"I  was  just  coming  to  see  if  I  could 
help  you,"  he  said.  "  I  had  to  attend  to 
the  car  a  minute,  but  I  see  I  wasn't 
needed." 

He  smiled  pleasantly  down  at  me. 
He  was  handsome,  —  rather  aggressively 
so,  —  I  decided.  Not  so  nice  looking  as 
33 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

the  other.   Rosalind  sauntered  up  quite 
unconcerned. 

"This  car  is  a  perfect  beauty,"  she 
murmured,  tucking  her  hand  into  my 
arm. 

It  was  a  funny  situation,  and  we  all 
looked  at  one  another  and  laughed.  (At 
least,  to  speak  correctly,  we  looked  at 
one  another  in  twos.) 

The  monster  by  the  roadside  seemed 
so  entirely  harmless,  and  the  ponies  were 
as  unconcerned  as  though  nothing  had 
disturbed  them. 

"A  pleasant  journey  to  you!"  I  said, 
climbing  into  the  runabout,  for  I  thought 
it  high  time  the  rendezvous  should  end. 

But  our  escorts  seemed  in  no  hurry 
to  be  off.  "  Have  you  far  to  go?"  mine 
asked,  as  he  leaned  upon  the  wheel. 

"  Just  to  Fernleigh  Tavern.  And 
you?" 

34 


THE   MONSTER  APPEARS 

"  Only  to  Ralston." 

I  gasped.  "  'Only  to  Ralston! '  " 

Thus  does  the  motor  car  annihilate 
space,  beautiful  stretches  of  space  which 
should  be  respected  and  lingered  over. 
This  had  been  our  day's  journey,  —  in 
fact,  it  seemed  long,  long  ago  that  we 
had  left  the  crowded,  noisy  city,  —  and 
they  would  toss  it  off  in  an  hour  or  so. 

I  picked  up  the  reins.  Goodness  knows 
what  confidences  were  being  exchanged 
on  Rosalind's  side  of  the  trap ! 

"Am  I  not  to  know  your  name?" 
asked  the  person  who  still  leaned  upon 
my  wheel.  And  as  the  ponies  started  he 
sprang  forward  and  tucked  the  rug  about 
my  feet. 

"  Only  that  I  am  a  fellow  traveler  on 
the  road  to  Arden,"  I  laughed  into  his 
puzzled  face  as  we  drove  away. 

How  lonely  it  had  suddenly  grown  ! 
35 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

The  woods,  once  so  companionable, 
were  now  all  silence  and  solitude.  I  was 
glad  that  Fernleigh  Tavern  lay  just 
across  the  hillside. 

Rosalind  put  her  hand  in  my  lap,  and 
I  pressed  it  sympathetically. 

"How  provoking  of  them  to  spoil 
our  peace,"  I  murmured. 

She  looked  into  my  eyes  with  that 
frankness  which  is  her  greatest  charm. 

"  It  is  n't  their  coming  that  I  mind, 
but  their  going,"  quoth  she. 


IV 

WE  ARE  CORDIALLY 
RECEIVED 

How  fine  it  is  to  enter  some  old  town,  walled  and 
turreted,  just  at  the  approach  of  nightfall,  or  to  come  to 
some  straggling  village,  with  the  lights  streaming  through 
the  surrounding  gloom;  and  then,  after  inquiring  for  the 
best  entertainment  that  the  place  affords,  to  "take  one's 
ease  at  one's  inn!  " 

WILLIAM  HAZLITT. 

o  arrive  at  one's  journey's  end 
after  a  day  of  travel  is  cheer- 
ing ;   to   be  expected  and 
welcomed  is  even  more  so. 
Fernleigh  Tavern,   represented  by  a 
genial  host,  one  John  Barton,  and  his 
good    wife    Anne,    literally   opened   its 
arms  to  us  that  May  evening.   Here  the 
men  of  both  our  families  have  come  for 
37 


ON   THE    ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

years  when  they  would  escape  for  a  space 
from  the  world's  noise.  Here  they  have 
hunted  and  fished  and  dreamed  a  while, 
and  havejourneyed  home  refreshed.  Why 
should  their  women  be  less  privileged  ? 
said  Rosalind  and  I,  when  urging  the 
wisdom  of  our  flight.  We  did  not  wish 
even  to  hunt  or  to  kill.  We  wished  merely 
to  enjoy  the  wilderness,  and  to  take  no- 
thing from  it.  All  our  arguments  would 
have  proved  vain,  I  fear,  had  it  not  been 
for  the  family  intimacy  with  these  good 
tavern  folk. 

In  suggesting,  even  courting,  this 
chaperonage,  we  partially  satisfied  their 
stern  sense  of  decorum.  All  my  life  I 
have  longed  just  once  to  be  a  vagabond, 
— to  go  where  I  will  and  as  I  will;  but 
now  I  feel  sure  it  is  to  be  my  fate  always 
to  follow  the  trail  so  carefully  blazed  for 
me,  of  perfect  propriety.  And,  after  all, 


WE  ARE   CORDIALLY   RECEIVED 

to  go  through  life  on  one's  own  merits 
might  be  rather  lonesome.  There  is  an 
assuring  sense  of  dignity  in  belonging  to 
the  respectable. 

So  when  our  beaming  host  greeted 
us  at  the  tavern  steps,  when  he  inquired 
affectionately  for  each  member  of  our 
two  families,  I  felt  the  cockles  of  my 
heart  warm  at  the  mere  thought  of  be- 
longing to  such  pleasant  people. 

We  found  a  glorious  fire  blazing  on 
the  hearth,  "  because  your  father  always 
likes  it  when  he  comes  in  from  a  day 
in  the  woods." 

"  Ah,  my  father,  the  banished  duke !  " 
Rosalind  murmured;  "  I  suppose  he  must 
be  here  in  hiding  somewhere."  In  re- 
sponse to  which  these  simple  folk  looked 
somewhat  mystified. 

We  were  given  the  southeast  bedroom, 
because  Tom  likes  it.  Our  hostess  es- 
39 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

corted  us  thither  with  candles,  for  the 
dusk  had  closed  cosily  around  us.  As 
we  groped  our  way  up  the  narrow  stair- 
case she  amused  us  with  stories  of  vari- 
ous late  arrivals  of  the  boys,  tired  and 
wet  after  a  day's  hunting. 

At  supper  we  were  treated  to  varied 
delicacies  of  which  we  always  had  heard. 
There  was  the  fried  chicken  which  "no- 
body could  cook  like  Nancy  Barton." 
And  as  we  tasted,  and  passed  our  plates 
for  more,  we  decided  that  Harry's  praise 
had  not  been  too  high.  There  were  hot 
biscuit  and  fresh  butter  which  really  did 
"  melt  in  your  mouth."  There  was  sweet 
milk  and  thick  cream,  usually  the  last 
things  one  finds  in  the  country ;  and  last 
of  all  came  the  famous  griddle  cakes. 
These  we  could  not  have  slighted  if  we 
would,  for  they  were  Dick's  favorite 
dish,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  eating 
40 


WE  ARE  CORDIALLY  RECEIVED 

twelve  at  least.  We  could  not  compete 
with  him,  but  we  did  our  best. 

And  meantime  our  host  and  hostess 
beamed  at  us  across  the  festive  board.  I 
refuse  to  apply  the  old  term  "  groan- 
ing" to  anything  so  cheerful.  Our  host 
sat  at  one  end  of  the  table,  —  if  there  is 
an  end  to  square  mahogany,  —  his  wife 
at  the  other.  Rosalind  and  I,  the  hon- 
ored guests,  were  placed  on  either  side. 
We  exchanged  significant  smiles  across 
the  table.  We  knew  that  thus  far  we 
were  sharers  merely  in  a  reflected  glory, 
but  we  humbly  hoped  soon  to  win  our 
own  way  into  the  hearts  of  these  good 
people. 

And  when  our  appetites  were  satisfied 
we  talked  of  many  things.  John  Barton 
grew  reminiscent  about  days  spent  in 
the  woods  with  our  men-folk,  and  as  we 
usually  knew  the  story  from  the  other 
41 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

side  we  could  encourage  and  draw  him 
out  at  the  critical  point. 

"  Don't  I  recollect  though  same  as 
't  was  yesterday,"  he  murmured,  tilting 
back  in  his  chair,  while  an  amused  smile 
crossed  his  face,  "  the  first  day  I  took 
Tom  and  Harry  partridge  shootin'.  Dave 
Mitchell  was  along,  too,  an'  he  's  a  dead 
shot.  You  've  heard  of  him,  I  reckon," 
with  a  searching  glance  at  Rosalind  and 
me,  which  implied  that  if  we  had  not  we 
would  much  better  never  have  been  born. 
We  hastened  to  aver  that  the  name  of 
Dave  was  one  to  conjure  with  in  both 
our  families.  Our  host  seemed  satisfied. 

"  Well,"  he  continued,  "  we  four  were 
out  together  over  beyond  the  South- 
brook  woods.  The  boys  had  their  new 
guns  and  were  anxious  enough  to  fire 
'em  off",  but  not  a  bit  of  luck  had  come 
our  way.  All  of  a  sudden  the  dogs  started 
42 


WE   ARE   CORDIALLY   RECEIVED 

a  covey  of  partridges,  an'  up  they  flew 
right  within  easy  range.  '  Fire,  boys  ! ' 
I  says.  Well,  there  was  four  of  us,  and 
four  shots  fired,  an'  "  —  he  paused  im- 
pressively that  his  remark  might  carry 
full  weight  —  "  two  birds  dropped  down 
dead.  *  We  've  got  'em,  we  've  got  'em ! ' 
the  boys  shouted,  and  they  ran  forward 
and  picked  up  the  two,  then  come  tear- 
in'  back  to  us  most  wild  with  excite- 
ment. My,  't  was  funny  !  "  he  chuckled. 
"  Never  occurred  to  'em  to  wonder  what 
Dave  and  me  had  hit." 

Ourfriendslapped  his  side  with  amuse- 
ment, and  laughed  afresh  at  the  recol- 
lection. 

On  Rosalind  and  me  this  story  made  a 
profound  impression.  It  was  a  new  ver- 
sion of  an  old  tale.  Long  ago  the  boys 
had  held  over  us  their  skill  as  marksmen, 
and  we  had  been  properly  impressed. 
43 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

"  And  did  you  never  tell  them  ? " 
Rosalind  demanded,  as  she  realized  how 
we  had  been  deluded  all  these  years. 

"  Never  did,  —  it  seemed  mean  some- 
how ;  but  do  you  know,  when  we  were 
out  shootin'  together  last  fall,  I  turned 
to  Harry  just  for  fun,  an'  said  some- 
thin'  about  that  early  luck  of  theirs,  and 
he  looked  at  Tom,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
they  both  looked  a  bit  sheepish,  as  though 
it  had  begun  to  dawn  on  'em." 

"  They  never  confessed  it  to  us," 
Rosalind  said  quite  hotly;  "  and  to  think 
how  they  lorded  it  over  us,  Celia  !  It 
was  months  before  we  did  anything  half 
so  impressive." 

So  completely  were  we  borne  back  to 
the  old  vivid  days  when  to  play,  to  fight, 
and  to  make  up  with  the  boys  formed 
the  sum  and  substance  of  our  lives,  that 
we  took  the  matter  in  all  seriousness. 
44 


WE  ARE  CORDIALLY  RECEIVED 

"  What  shall  we  make  them  do  for 
penalty  ? "  I  asked  Rosalind. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  you  've  got  back  at 
'em  long  before  this,"  our  host  chuckled. 
"  Girls  generally  do  when  they  grow  up." 

Then  we  fell  into  conversation  about 
the  ponies,  always  a  safe  topic.  John 
exalted  their  good  points  to  my  entire 
satisfaction,  and  as  he  had  tended  and 
fed  them  with  his  own  hands,  he  cer- 
tainly was  in  a  position  to  know. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  're  stickin'  to  horse- 
flesh," he  commented.  "  I  don't  like 
those  crazy  autos,  that  go  skylarkin' 
'round  the  countryside  seein'  what  they 
can  scare.  An'  them  chefs  are  a  crazy 
lot." 

Suppressing  a  smile  I  nodded  approval, 
for  our  wayside  episode  had  but  strength- 
ened my  prejudice.  Rosalind,  however, 
was  unresponsive. 

45 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  There  were  two  young  fellers  here 
in  a  big  tourin'  car  yesterday,"  Barton 
resumed  confidentially.  "  Seemed  nice 
enough.  Said  they  were  bound  for  Ral- 
ston and  would  be  back  here  in  a  week 
or  so." 

"Oh,"  I  murmured,  but  Rosalind  said 
nothing. 

At  this  point  the  telephone  bell  rang 
sharply.  It  startled  Rosalind  and  me,  who 
fancied  ourselves  in  the  wilderness,  but 
our  hosts  took  the  matter  quite  calmly. 
With  elbows  resting  upon  the  table  they 
counted  the  rings  expectantly. 

"  Six,"  said  Barton.  "  The  widow 
Finn  's  callin'  up  the  store  to  say  she  's 
forgot  to  order  a  yeastcake,  and  will  they 
please  send  it  right  over." 

"  Seven,"    announced  his   wife,   still 
counting  the  insistent  bell,  and  she  sprang 
eagerly  to  the  receiver. 
46 


WE   ARE   CORDIALLY   RECEIVED 

"  Oh,  Sary,"  we  heard  her  say,  "that 
you  ?  Yes,  I  'm  plannin'  six  loaves  of 
white  and  four  of  brown,  and  I  'm  fig- 
urin'  on  three  kinds  o'  cake.  No,  it 's  a 
secret.  I  haven't  told  a  soul." 

"  'T  won't  be  much  longer,"  observed 
her  husband  to  us,  "  with  five  other  fam- 
ilies on  the  line,  all  eagerly  listenin'." 

"  Oh  yes,  we  must  keep  it  from  him, 
whatever  else  we  do,"  was  the  next  fer- 
vent response. 

"'He'  bein'  the  minister,  I  s'pose," 
murmured  John.  "  I  guess  his  boys  know 
it  all  by  this  time.  They  're  generally  fust 
at  the  'phone." 

"  No,"  Nancy  was  saying,  "  I  don't 
think  it 's  polite  to  have  as  many  as  he  is 
old.  Let 's  have  sixteen,  that 's  kind  of 
complimentary,  an*  you  an'  I  can  divide 
what 's  left  of  the  two  dozen,  —  they  're 
always  handy  for  birthdays.  Gracious ! 
47 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Sary,  what  was  that?  Thought  I  heard 
some  one  laugh." 

"  Guess  you  did,"  chuckled  John. 
"Any  one  would  who  happened  to  be 
listenin'.  Sixteen  candles  for  the  minis- 
ter's birthday  cake  !  "  And  he  turned  to 
Rosalind  and  me  for  sympathetic  appre- 
ciation, which  we  were  quite  ready  to 
give.  "Oh,  Lord !  "  he  groaned.  "Wished 
they  'd  kept  it  a  secret  from  me.  S'pose 
I  've  got  to  rig  up  and  go  to  the  darn 
party." 

"  Yes,"  Nancy  was  saying,  "  you  make 
that  fruity  kind.  It  goes  farther.  Folks 
are  awful  afraid  of  it.  The  last  time  John 
eat  any  he  —  " 

"Oh,  don't,  Nancy!"  shouted  the  ir- 
repressible John.  "  Spare  these  young 
folks." 

"  He  said  it  was  the  last  time,"  Nancy 
concluded,  quite  unmoved. 
48 


WE  ARE   CORDIALLY   RECEIVED 

Then  the  conversation  became  less  in- 
telligible, for  it  was  Sary  who  talked 
while  Nancy  responded  somewhat  in 
thiswise,  —  "Y-us,  y-us.  Do  tell!  Why, 
Sary  !  No,  I  never.  Yes,  I  would  —  I 
mean,  no,  I  would  n't.  I  'd  shorten  all 
their  legs,  if  I  was  you.  They  'd  stand 
a  lot  better.  The  minister? —  No,  he 
wouldn't  care." 

"  I  should  say  't  would  depend  on 
whose  legs  they  were,"  gasped  the  now 
convulsed  John. 

"  Oh  no,  Sary,  I  'd  have  the  short, 
broad  ones.  The  long  narrer  kind  are 
awful  hard  to  fill." 

"  That  must  be  the  minister's  wife," 
murmured  Barton.  "  Nancy !  "  he  called, 
some  moments  later,  "  in  another  second 
I  'm  goin'  to  bring  your  supper  out  to 
you.  But  that  doesn't  help  us  any. 
We  're  not  gettin'  a  thing  to  eat." 
49 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

It  was  quite  true.  The  Child  and  I 
were  so  engrossed  in  watching  John, 
and  in  putting  together  these  snatches 
of  talk,  that  we  were  forgetting  our 
delicious  supper. 

"  But  it 's  just  as  well,"  murmured 
Rosalind. 

"What'd  you  say,  Sary?"  Nancy's 
calm  voice  had  become  a  little  queru- 
lous. "  John  was  makin'  such  a  noise, 
I  could  n't  hear.  Oh,  that  we  better 
meet  to-morrer  and  talk  it  all  over.  All 
right.  Say  you  come  here  about  three 
when  John  Js  out.  Good-by." 

She  came  back  to  the  table  quite  ra- 
diant. "  That 's  a  surprise  party  for  the 
minister,"  she  said  cheerily. 

"  Do   tell,"  John   murmured.    "  I  'd 

never  of  guessed  it.  An'  you  're  goin'  to 

talk  it  all  over  to-morrer,  are  you  ?  But 

say,   Nancy  !  —  Whose    legs    are   those 

50 


WE  ARE  CORDIALLY  RECEIVED 

you  're  goin'  to  cut  off?  Oh,  the  tables', 
are  they ! " 

Dame  Barton  was  busily  removing 
the  remains  of  the  feast.  Her  goodman 
was  restless  without  his  pipe,  for  she 
never  allowed  him  to  smoke  in  the  din- 
ing-room ;  so  we  three  adjourned  to  the 
hall,  a  fine  old  room  with  its  white 
wainscot  and  its  broad  hearth  where 
the  fire  still  cheerfully  blazed.  On  the 
walls  were  antlers,  and  a  fox  brush,  and 
deer  heads  whose  eyes  looked  down  at 
us  reproachfully,  I  thought.  There  was 
a  story  connected  with  each  of  these 
trophies,  and  curled  in  opposite  corners 
of  the  high-backed  settle,  the  Child  and 
I  listened  and  enjoyed.  We  did  not  ques- 
tion or  doubt,  —  at  the  time  at  least,  — 
for  that  is  neither  wise  nor  helpful  where 
John  Barton's  stories  are  concerned. 

And  as  the  fire  burned  low  we  gazed 
51 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

into  its  glowing  depths  and  dreamed  our 
dreams.  Whither  Rosalind's  were  lead- 
ing her  I  was  now  at  a  loss  to  surmise. 
Mine  were,  of  course,  impersonal. 

At  last  it  grew  time  to  cover  the  em- 
bers. Then  we  took  our  candles  and 
went  up  to  bed. 


THE   FOREST  GIVES  US 
WELCOME 


Here,  in  alleys  cool  and  green, 
Far  ahead  the  thrush  is  seen  ; 
Here  along  the  southern  wall 
Keeps  the  bee  his  festival  ; 
All  is  quiet  else  —  afar 
Sounds  of  toil  and  turmoil  are. 

AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

was  a  wonderful  day  spent 
in  the  woods.  We  let  the 
ponies  rest,  and  set  out  on 
foot.  We  refused  to  be 
guided,  and  wandered  at  will,  seeking 
nothing  and  rinding  all.  There  was  the 
little  rippling  brook  and  the  shady  dell 
where  the  violets  grow  ;  there  were  birds 
singing  and  rejoicing  in  the  solitudes. 
For  their  unerring  instinct  had  told 
53 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

them  the   time  was   come   when  they 
should  leave  the  southland  and  fly  to  us. 

"Why  are  they  so  much  better  time- 
keepers than  we,  I  wonder?"  Rosalind 
asked,  for  promptness  is  not  her  strong 
point. 

A  gentle  twitter  among  the  leaves 
told  me  that  some  member  of  the  war- 
bler family  was  near,  and  I  paused  and 
listened  that  I  might  greet  him  and  call 
him  by  name.  Rosalind  does  not  share 
in  my  personal  feeling  on  this  subject. 
To  her  they  are  all  "birds."  She  says, 
what  do  nice  distinctions  matter  when 
they  do  not  even  know  their  own  names? 
—  and  a  robin  would  not  care  if  you 
called  him  a  blue  jay  or  vice  versa.  But 
to  me  they  are  as  individual  as  people, 
and  I  would  no  sooner  address  them  by 
names  not  theirs  than  I  would  mix  up 
my  best  friends. 

54 


THE   FOREST   GIVES   US   WELCOME 

So  I  waited  patiently  in  the  under- 
brush, for  one  learns  patience  in  Nature's 
world,  and  presently  he  appeared  to  me, 
my  beautiful  little  Parula  warbler,  sleek 
and  trim  in  his  blue-gray  coat.  High  in 
the  treetop  he  was  tripping  from  bough 
to  bough,  quite  unconscious  of  my  pre- 
sence. Nor  did  I  disturb  him,  but  simply 
gave  silent  greeting  and  passed  on.  And 
among  the  silver  birches,  looking  like  a 
dryad,  I  found  Rosalind  awaiting  me, 
even  mocking  at  me. 

Nature,  with  a  beckoning  hand,  bade 
us  enter  her  innermost  sanctum  that 
morning,  and  there  was  naught  to  do 
but  follow.  So  all  day  we  wandered  at 
will,  resting  when  we  wished  on  the 
soft  moss  beneath  the  great  trees,  —  fairy 
carpets  we  used  to  call  them. 

Then  towards  nightfall,  on  our  way 
home,  we  happened  upon  a  deserted 
55 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

homestead.  The  house  had  been  torn 
down,  and  only  the  foundation  remained 
to  show  where  once  a  good-sized  build- 
ing had  stood.  Grass-grown  paths,  and 
riotous  weeds  nourishing  in  the  inter- 
vening spaces,  gave  evidence  of  an  old- 
time  garden.  Following  the  middle  path 
we  found  at  the  end  a  flat  millstone, 
which  evidently  had  stood  before  the 
front  door. 

"  I  'm  glad  the  house  is  gone/'  Rosa- 
lind said,  as  we  sank  down  among  the 
tall  grasses  and  looked  about  us.  "  They 
always  seem  so  forlorn  and  reproachful, 
and  as  though  they  missed  their  old  friends 
dreadfully.  But  a  merely  deserted  place 
is  quite  cheerful.  The  weeds  have  such 
a  good  time  springing  up  without  any 
one  to  hinder." 

"  Yes,"  I  agreed,  "  one  always  has  a 
strong  personal  feeling  about  a  house, 
56 


THE   FOREST   GIVES   US   WELCOME 

and  as  if  it  were  an  impertinence  to  in- 
trude. I  don't  feel  a  bit  intrusive  just 
sitting  out  here  in  the  garden.  I  wonder 
who  lived  here?  I  suppose  there  are  all 
sorts  of  stories,  if  we  only  knew." 

Rosalind  clasped  her  hands  around  her 
knees  and  tilting  back  her  head  gazed 
dreamily  down  the  aisle  of  tall  elms,  the 
old-time  carriage  drive. 

"  Well,"  she  said  slowly,  "once  upon 
a  time  there  was  a  man  who  lived  in  a  big 
city,  and  who  was  in  poor  health.  The 
doctor  told  him  that  if  he  would  get 
well  he  must  go  into  the  country  and 
live  a  simple,  outdoor  life.  So  he  came 
here  and  chose  this  spot  as  being  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  countryside.  He 
built  this  house,  —  it  was  of  gray  shin- 
gles, and  pink  roses  rambled  over  it,  — 
and  he  planted  his  garden.  Then,  of 
course,  he  fell  in  love  with  his  gardener's 
57 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

daughter.  She  looked  so  pretty  and  pic- 
turesque when  she  brought  the  basket 
of  eggs  each  morning.  So  they  were 
married,  and  his  family  were  haughty, 
and  disapproved,  and  disinherited  him. 
But  they  did  n't  mind,  and  were  very 
happy,  and  had  a  big  family  of  sons  and 
daughters.  The  older  ones  were  typical 
country  products,  and  they  grew  up  and 
married  other  country  boys  and  girls. 
They  grew  tired  of  this  secluded  home- 
stead, and  some  of  them  moved  to  larger 
towns  and  felt  they  had  risen  in  the 
world.  But  the  youngest  daughter  was 
of  different  mettle.  She  was  beautiful 
and  refined  and  intellectual." 

"  A  real  story  -  book  heroine,"  I 
laughed,  "  with  all  the  virtues." 

"  She  loved  her  father's  books,"  Rosa- 
lind continued,  not  heeding  my  inter- 
ruption, "and  she  loved  the  woods  and 
58 


THE   FOREST   GIVES   US   WELCOME 

her  flower  garden.  Her  name  was  Pris- 
cilla.  Now  the  swains  from  the  coun- 
try round  about  came  courting,  but 
she  wrould  have  none  of  them.  They 
offered  her  magnificent  modern  struc- 
tures in  the  town,  where  she  could  see 
the  world  wag  by,  but  she  only  laughed 
in  their  faces.  Do  you  see  that  elm  by 
the  avenue,  with  the  deep  furrow  in  the 
branch  ?  That  is  where  they  tied  their 
horses,  and  they  would  come  in  and 
pace  the  garden  path  while  she  worked 
among  her  flowers  and  mocked  them 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  At  last  one  day,  —  her  father  and 
mother  had  died  by  this  time,  and  she 
was  all  alone,  —  she  heard  a  great  clatter 
of  hoofs,  and  hastening  to  the  avenue  she 
saw  a  runaway  horse,  which  had  thrown 
its  rider.  She  found  him  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  —  a  young  man,  badly  hurt,  —  and 
59 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

she  brought  him  in  and  nursed  him  till 
he  recovered. 

"  Yes,  of  course  she  married  him.  He 
was  the  one  she  had  been  waiting  for  all 
these  years.  He  loved  the  place  just  as 
she  did,  and  when  they  were  n't  traveling 
in  distant  lands  they  lived  here.  They 
lived  happily  together  for  many  years, 
and  when  they  died  they  requested  that 
the  house  be  torn  down,  and  that  in  the 
grounds  and  garden  Nature  should  be 
allowed  her  own  way. 

"Now,  is  n't  that  a  nice  story  ?"  and 
Rosalind  turned  to  me  for  approval. 

"  Very,"  I  agreed,  "  and  so  convinc- 
ing that  I  actually  see  Priscilla  walking 
in  the  garden  in  the  cool  of  the  eve. 
How  long  the  shadows  are  growing !  " 

As  we  turned  away  we  found  in  a  shady 
nook,  just  below  the  garden,  a  great  bed 
of  lilies-of-the-valley,  —  beautiful,  fra- 
60 


THE   FOREST   GIVES   US   WELCOME 

grant,  white  things,  nestling  among  their 
green  leaves.  Never  before  have  I  seen 
enough  lilies -of -the -valley  growing  to- 
gether. In  our  garden  are  a  few  choice 
stalks,  carefully  thinned  out  each  year 
for  fear  of  crowding  one  another.  But 
here,  with  no  human  hand  to  hinder, 
they  bloomed  in  a  perfect  glory  of  pro- 
fusion. Rosalind  and  I,  as  much  in  rev- 
erence as  for  convenience'  sake,  fell  on 
our  knees  before  them. 

"Don't  you  see?  "  Rosalind  said,  "this 
is  where  Priscilla's  bridal  flowers  grew," 

Then  we  began  to  gather,  for  here  we 
were  not  content  merely  to  worship  and 
pass  on.  And  when  at  last  we  were  done, 
and  I  went  through  the  woods  with  my 
bouquet  clasped  close,  and  buried  my 
face  in  its  cool  fragrance,  I  wondered  if 
ever  bride  were  so  fair  or  virtuous  as  to 
deserve  a  flower  so  pure. 


VI 

WE  ARE  NOT  ALONE  IN  THE 
WILDERNESS 

Lie  softly,  Leisure !  Doubtless  you 
With  too  serene  a  conscience  drew 
Your  easy  breath,  and  slumbered  through 

The  gravest  issue; 
But  we,  to  whom  our  age  allows 
Scarce  space  to  wipe  our  weary  brows, 
Look  down  upon  your  narrow  house, 

Old  friend,  and  miss  you! 

AUSTIN  DOBSON. 

E  doffed  our  forest  garb, 
and  dressed  for  dinner  that 
night.  As  I  raised  my  can- 
dle above  my  head  to  put 
a  last  finishing  touch  before  the  mirror, 
I  caught  Rosalind's  eye  scanning  me 
amusedly.  She  was  enjoying,  I  saw,  my 

innocent  glance  of  self-congratulation. 
62 


NOT   ALONE   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

"  I  wonder,"  she  observed,  "  which  is 
the  more  trying, --to  look  one's  worst 
among  people,  or  to  look  one's  best  when 
there  is  no  one  near  to  admire  ? " 

"  Faith,  coz !  "  I  laughed,  for  the  same 
notion  was  flitting  through  my  head, "  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  admiring 
one  another  to-night." 

So  acting  the  lover  as  best  I  could  I 
slipped  my  arm  about  her,  and  we  went 
down  together. 

Rosalind  played  upon  the  piano  that 
evening,  entrancingly.  Curled  up  in  the 
high-backed  settle,  with  a  book  of  verse 
and  a  bit  of  sewing,  I  listened  and  rev- 
eled. As  she  strayed  from  key  to  key, 
playing  whatever  I  requested,  I  found 
myself  pondering  upon  the  fact  that  she 
should  have  such  musical  finger-tips, 
while  my  music  is  all  hidden  away  in- 
63 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

side.  There  isn't  a  musical  gymnastic 
too  difficult  for  Rosalind  to  perform. 
Wagner  and  the  latest  popular  song  are 
alike  simple  to  her,  while  /,  trying  la- 
boriously to  learn  to  play,  brought  only 
pain  to  myself  and  to  others.  And  yet  — 
here  is  the  puzzle  —  music  does  not 
enter  into  and  affect  her  life  as  it  does 
mine.  She  does  not  weep  when  it  is  grave, 
or  laugh  when  it  is  gay.  And  when  she 
wanders  in  spring  woods  and  hears  the 
song  of  brook  and  trees,  she  is  not  re- 
minded of  all  the  tunes  she  has  known 
since  childhood  till  she  must  stretch  out 
her  arms  and  sing. 

In  philosophical  moods  I  comfort  my- 
self with  the  conclusion  that  Rosalind's 
music  is  of  the  mind,  while  mine  is  of 
the  heart.  Hers  gives  greater  pleasure 
to  others ;  mine  to  myself.  It  is  shock- 
ing that  in  such  egoism  I  find  comfort. 
64 


NOT   ALONE   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

Rosalind  was  playing  the  "  Sigmund 
Love  Song,"  and  I  was  sewing  very  fast 
to  suppress  a  big  lump  which  would 
gather  in  my  throat  till  it  positively 
hurt.  Presently,  when  she  had  finished, 
and  with  a  few  connecting  chords  had 
plunged  into  a  riotous  modern  waltz, 
the  transition  •  was  too  great  for  me.  I 
rose. 

"  I  'm  going  out  to  see  that  the  ponies 
are  all  settled  for  the  night,"  I  said. 

"  Kiss  them  for  me,"  she  requested, 
and  she  looked  up  and  smiled  as  I  passed 

by- 

How  is  it  that  a  person  can  look  away 
from  the  keys  and  continue  playing  just 
as  unconcernedly  ?  I  always  floundered 
then,  if  not  before,  even  while  I  kept 
counting  conscientiously,  —  one,  two, 
three;  one,  two,  three. 

As  I  went  out  the  side  door,  swing- 
65 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

ing  my  lantern,  Rosalind  was  playing 
the  "  Pilgrims'  Chorus  "  with  all  solem- 
nity and  grandeur. 

The  ponies  were  fascinating,  and  I  lin- 
gered with  them.  Star  whinnied  cheer- 
fully as  I  came  into  the  dusky  barn,  and 
pressed  eagerly  against  the  gate  of  her 
big  box  stall.  Garter  was  munching  his 
supper  comfortably,  next  door,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  I  could  command 
his  attention.  But  when  he  discovered 
that  I  was  giving  sugar  to  Star  he  came 
forward  in  all  haste. 

"  You  hypocrites !  "  I  laughed.  "  Is 
that  why  you  're  glad  to  see  me  ?  "  Yet 
why  blame  them  ?  Children  are  no  bet- 
ter, or  even  grown-ups  sometimes. 

Star  thrust  back  her  ears  and  nipped 
at  Garter  when  she  thought  he  was  get- 
ting her  share  of  the  feast,  and  a  lively 
little  scrimmage  ensued  around  the  edge 
66 


NOT   ALONE   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

of  the  partition.  Finally,  with  an  arm 
about  each  neck,  I  soothed  them  into 
harmony  once  more.  Then  I  kissed 
them,  once  for  Rosalind  and  several 
times  for  myself,  and  left  them  to  peace- 
ful slumber. 

As  I  say,  I  had  lingered  with  the 
ponies,  and  some  time  had  elapsed  when 
I  betook  my  way  home.  The  new  barn 
where  they  are  quartered  stands  at  quite 
a  distance  from  the  house,  and  a  wide 
yard  intervenes. 

As  I  crossed  this  space,  swinging  my 
lantern  before  me  to  make  sure  of  the 
path,  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  four 
great  lights  just  ahead,  dazzling  me  with 
their  brilliancy. 

"  What  has  come  over  this  quiet  place  ? " 
I  puzzled,  and  with  woman's  commend- 
able curiosity  I  hastened  to  investigate. 
Now  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  judge  of 
67 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

motor  cars,  or  to  distinguish  one  variety  of 
the  horrid  species  from  another,  but  as  I 
regarded  closely  this  particular  monster 
it  occurred  to  me  that  in  its  general  ap- 
pearance there  was  something  very  famil- 
iar. Swinging  my  lantern  impertinently 
over  it,  I  noted  the  lines  of  its  massive 
body,  the  color,  the  trappings,  and  I 
wisely  shook  my  head.  There  it  stood  in 
all  its  arrogance,  protected  by  its  flaring 
lights,  flinging  defiance  to  the  world. 

A  sound  of  voices  in  the  stable  near 
by !  Not  wishing  to  be  suspected  of  med- 
dling in  an  affair  so  plainly  of  no  interest 
to  me,  I  hastily  took  my  departure. 

"  Rosalind,"  I  called,  brimming  over 
with  the  news.  "  Rosalind,  what  do  you 
suppose  —  "  But  I  might  have  known 
it  would  not  be  for  me  to  impart  infor- 
mation. 

In  the  pleasant  glow  of  the  chimney 
68 


NOT   ALONE   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

corner  stood  a  cheerful  group  of  three, 
laughing  and  talking  merrily.  As  I 
came  in  they  all  stopped  suddenly  and 
looked  at  me  with  some  concern,  as 
though  wondering  what  I  would  do. 
Strange  to  say,  that  was  just  what  /  was 
wondering.  As  Rosalind's  guide  and 
counselor,  it  was  plainly  my  duty  to  be 
severe.  I  hesitated,  and  was  lost,  for  in 
that  brief  interval  my  genial  friend  of 
the  day  before  sprang  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand. 

"  Welcome  to  Arden  !  "  he  cried. 
And  it  was  /  who  had  given  him  this 
cue. 

"  We  seek  Arden  by  right,"  I  reminded 
him  coldly.  "  We  are  Rosalind  and 
Celia." 

"Ah,"  he  responded,  "but  didn't 
you  know  ?  This  is  my  friend  Orlando, 
here,  and  I  am  Oliver,  at  your  service." 
69 


ON    THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

They  both  bowed  profoundly.  What 
could  I  do  but  share  in  the  laugh  which 
followed  ?  He  was  so  natural,  so  ingenu- 
ous, that  one  felt  ridiculous  in  refusing 
to  meet  him  on  his  own  friendly  ground. 
Perforce,  I  joined  the  group  by  the  fire. 

"A  splendid  Oliver  you  would  make," 
I  remarked.  "  He  was  a  stern  and  cruel 
fellow,  if  I  remember." 

"  And  so  am  I,  at  heart,  I  assure  you," 
he  told  me  gravely.  "  This  pleasing  man- 
ner is  merely  assumed  in  your  presence. 
I  am  his  guardian,"  he  explained  confi- 
dentially, with  a  nod  toward  Orlando, 
"  and  I  have  to  rule  by  force." 

"  And  did  you  think  your  duties 
would  be  Jess  arduous  in  the  wilder- 
ness?" I  asked.  , 

"  Exactly !  How  clever  of  you  to 
guess." 

Rosalind  was  regarding  our  friend 
70 


THIS   IS  MY    FRIEND  ORLANDO 


NOT   ALONE   IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

with  amusement.  "  They  've  been  tell- 
ing me  wonderful  tales  of  what  they 
have  seen  and  done,"  she  informed  me. 

Orlando,  who  is  much  taller  than  any 
of  us,  and  has  withal  a  certain  air  of 
superiority,  now  looked  down  upon  us 
quizzically. 

"  Yes,"  he  affirmed.  "  While  you  two 
have  been  doing  nothing  —  absolutely 
nothing  —  in  this  forsaken  land,  we 
have  journeyed  hundreds  of  miles,  have 
watched  the  wheels  of  progress  turn, 
and  have  dined  with  great  men  and  fair 
ladies." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,"  I  agreed.  "It 
seems  that  we  have  been  away  long 
enough  for  nations  to  be  made  or  un- 
made." 

"  Not  in  your  absence,  I  am  sure," 
Oliver  protested. 

We  laughed  indulgently.  His  flattery 
7* 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

is  absurd,  but  it  promotes  a  friendly  feel- 
ing which  is  pleasant. 

"  And  your  remarks  are  quite  out  of 
place,"  Rosalind  severely  told  Orlando. 
"  Granted,  we  have  traveled  more  slowly 
than  you ;  therefore  more  profitably." 

"  And  your  speed  is  not  so  remark- 
able," I  put  in,  "  considering  you  've 
been  driving  forty-five  horses  to  our  two, 
—  and  only  ponies  at  that." 

He  chuckled  delightedly.  "  You  're 
an  avowed  enemy  to  the  motor  car, 
are  n't  you  ?  "  he  queried.  "  I  'd  just  like 
to  get  you  into  mine." 

<;  Oh,  I  should  n't  refuse,"  I  told  him. 
"  It  is  merely  one  of  those  disagree- 
able sensations  which  one  is  perfectly 
capable  of  bearing." 

"  Don't  you  believe  in  the  joy  of  mo- 
tion?" he  asked. 

"Surely,"  I  answered. 
72 


NOT  ALONE   IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

"  Then  the  more  motion,  the  more 
joy!" 

They  laughed  at  me.  But  how  fool- 
ish to  argue  with  one  who  does  n't  un- 
derstand. Have  n't  I  thrilled  with  the 
sense  of  freedom,  riding  horseback  on  a 
clear  October  day,  with  the  wind  in  my 
face?  What  could  the  motorist  know 
of  this  ? 

"To  change  the  subject,"  Orlando  re- 
marked, "I'm  consumed  with  hunger, 
and,  curiously  enough,  I  believe  my 
namesake  suffered  with  the  same  com- 
plaint when  he  journeyed  into  Arden." 

"I  believe  he  did,"  I  agreed,  —  glad 
to  agree  in  something,  "  and  surely,  like 
him,  *  you  will  not  die  for  lack  of  a  din- 
ner/ for  here  comes  our  genial  host." 

The  door  was  at  that  moment  flung 
open,  and  John  Barton,  eager  and  beam- 
ing, summoned  them  to  the  feast. 
73 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"Where  shall  we  find  you?"  they 
asked  anxiously,  while  they  lost  no  time 
in  responding. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  I  answered  in 
some  haste  to  anticipate  Rosalind.  "  We 
go  up  very  early." 

But  Rosalind  had  already  strayed  to- 
ward the  piano,  and  was  content  in  mak- 
ing alluring  music. 


VII 
WE  FIND  SOLACE  IN  MUSIC 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ? 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago  ; 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

"  She  should  never  have  looked  at  me 
If  she  meant  I  should  not  love  her!" 

AYS    the     poet.     Rosalind's 
victims    might    well    say, 
"  She    should    never  have 
sung  to  me!  "    For  she  has 
a  way  of  singing  an  ardent  love  song, 
with  her  soul  in  her  eyes  and  a  thrill  in 
75 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

her  voice,  which  makes  each  poor  In- 
nocent think  it  is  for  him,  and  for  him 
alone.  Also,  as  she  is  completely  fem- 
inine, I  more  than  suspect  that  she  did 
not  mean  that  they  "  should  not  love 
her/' 

When  I  accused  her  of  this  one  day, 
she  assured  me  that  such  conduct  would 
be  flirting,  and  that  she  emphatically  was 
not  a  flirt.  When  brought  to  bay,  how- 
ever, she  concluded  that  hers  was  a  tenta- 
tive measure. 

"  For  how  can  I  tell  whether  I  might 
love  them  or  not,  until  I  try  ?  "  she  asked 
persuasively.  "  And  you  've  no  idea  how 
interesting  it  is  to  imagine  you  're  in  love 
with  a  person,  just  for  a  few  minutes  at 
a  time ! " 

On  this  particular  evening  she  was 
standing  with  head  thrown  back  and 
hands  clasped  lightly  behind  her.  The 
76 


WE    FIND   SOLACE   IN  MUSIC 

rosy  lamplight  touched  her  tilted  chin 
and  her  round  white  throat. 

Orlando,  it  seemed,  was  also  a  good 
musician,  -  -  so  good  that  he  did  not 
need  always  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  the 
notes,  —  and  he  was  accompanying  her 
in  some  old  Scotch  and  English  songs 
they  had  found.  Now  and  again  she 
bent  over  and  turned  the  page  for  him, 
and  the  soft  lace  slipped  away  from  her 
graceful  arm. 

I  had  my  book  for  company,  and  Oli- 
ver had  his  pipe,  and  we  both  had  the 
fire  and  the  music,  so  we  really  need 
not  have  talked  at  all.  For  that  reason, 
I  suppose,  we  chattered  busily.  In  the 
first  place,  we  discovered  that  we  had 
the  same  sort  of  musical  instinct,  in  that 
we  enjoy  listening  but  cannot  ourselves 
perform. 

"  And  it  takes  real  genius,"  Oliver 
77 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

mused,  "  to    appreciate    some    people's 
playing." 

Rosalind  was  singing  with  sweet  ear- 
nestness, — 

"  Or  were  I  in  the  wildest  waste, 
Sae  bleak  and  bare,  sae  bleak  and  bare, 
The  desert  were  a  paradise, 
If  thou  wert  there,  if  thou  wert  there." 

Oliver  looked  up  from  the  fire  and 
smiled.  "  Funny  old  Bobby  Burns,"  he 
murmured;  "and  I  suppose  he  really 
meant  it  every  time,  too." 

"As  he  wrote  that  in  his  fatal  ill- 
ness," I  suggested,  "  perhaps  the  lady 
had  the  honor  of  being  his  last  love,  if 
not  his  first  and  only." 

"  It 's  a  comforting  notion,"  Oliver 
mused.  "  '  If  thou  wert  there,'  "  he  re- 
peated slowly.  "  I  wonder  if  it 's  true, 
or  if  they  would  n't  be  getting  their 
noses  nipped  in  that  *  eauld  blast,'  and 
78 


WE   FIND  SOLACE   IN   MUSIC 

wish  they  hadn't  left  a  pleasant  fire- 
side. Do  you  think  it  would  make 
everything  all  right?"  he  asked,  sud- 
denly turning  to  me. 

I  hedged,  to  avoid  a  personal  opinion. 
'*  I  'm  sure  Rosalind  thinks  so  at  this 
moment,"  I  said,  looking  at  her  sug- 
gestively. 

His  glance  followed  mine.  "  Appar- 
ently Orlando  thinks  so,  too,"  he  ob- 
served dryly.  Then  a  sudden  smile 
twitched  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"  The  trouble  I  've  had  with  that  boy," 
he  groaned. 

"Have  you?"  I  asked,  and  a  world 
of  understanding  must  have  been  con- 
veyed in  my  voice,  for  he  looked  at  me, 
amusement  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  were  thinking  ? "  he  suggested. 

"  That  it 's  a  case  of  Greek  meeting 
Greek,"  I  accorded. 
79 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  Evidently  neither  of  us  has  shaken 
responsibility  by  coming  into  the  wil- 
derness," Oliver  said  gayly.  "  But  remem- 
ber, you  began  it.  As  to  our  coming —  " 
"  My  friend  Orlando  has  been  ill,"  he 
concluded,  "  and  I  agreed  to  take  a  holi- 
day with  him." 

"  Oh,"  I  answered,  "  I  see  "  ;  which 
meant  that  I  did  not  see  in  the  least,  but 
that  I  did  n't  wish  to  pry  into  some- 
thing he  had  suddenly  remembered  to 
withhold.  We  left  the  subject  with  the 
pleasant  feeling  that  we  had  found  an- 
other bond  of  sympathy.  Then  we  both 
stopped  to  listen.  Rosalind  was  singing 
with  a  joyous  lilt,  — 

"  Over  the  mountains  and  over  the  waves, 
Under  the  fountains  and  under  the  graves, 
Under  floods  that  are  deepest 

Which  Neptune  obey ; 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest 
Love  will  find  out  the  way." 
80 


WE    FIND   SOLACE   IN    MUSIC 

"  Is  n't  Rosalind  beautiful !  "  I  de- 
manded impulsively. 

I  suppose  some  people  grow  so  used 
to  their  nearest  and  dearest  that  they 
scarcely  notice  their  appearance,  but  to 
me  the  Child's  charm  is  a  constant 
surprise  and  delight.  Yet  when  Oliver 
heartily  agreed  with  me,  and  sat  for 
some  moments  fixedly  watching  her,  I 
must  say  I  felt  a  queer  little  stab  in  my 
throat,  quite  unexpected  and  provoking. 

"  The  lioness,  you  may  move  her, 

To  give  o'er  her  prey ; 
But  you  '11  ne'er  stop  a  lover, 
He  will  find  out  his  way," 

Rosalind    concluded    in    a    triumphant 
burst  of  song. 

Oliver  turned  to  me  with  enthusiasm. 
"  That 's  the  right  idea  !  "  he  exclaimed; 
"  and  do  you  know,  I  believe  she  has  it 
in  her  to  really  love." 
81 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

So  his  interest  in  the  Child  had  been 
merely  impersonal,  —  and  my  relief  at 
this  discovery  was  also  unexpected  and 
provoking. 

"  Indeed  she  has  !  "  I  cried  with  quick 
loyalty.  "  I  only  trust  her  feeling  will 
never  be  misplaced." 

I  knelt  down  and  fell  to  poking  the 
fire  rather  vigorously. 

"  You  better  believe  it  would  n't  be," 
Oliver  answered,  taking  up  cudgels  as 
in  a  personal  matter. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  anything  so 
definite,"  I  gasped.  Then  wondered,  sud- 
denly, if  I  had  been  quite  honest,  and 
rather  admired  Oliver  for  his  straight- 
forward simplicity. 

Presently  he   leaned   over   and  took 

the  tongs  from  me,  an  act  which  may 

have  been   prompted  by   chivalry,  but 

was  due  largely,  I  am  sure,  to  that  mas- 

82 


WE   FIND   SOLACE   IN   MUSIC 

culine  desire  of  doing  the  thing  his  own 
way.  Again  I  submitted  meekly,  for  the 
point  did  not  seem  worth  disputing,  and 
already  we  had  drifted  into  a  pleasant 
conversation,  beginning  with  the  joys  of 
an  open  fire,  and  continuing  with  all 
things  else  under  the  sun.  And  the  pair 
at  the  piano  sang  on  undisturbed  and 
oblivious. 

Then,  as  the  glow  faded,  and  we  were 
disputing  whether  or  not  another  log 
should  be  put  upon  the  embers,  we  heard 
Rosalind's  voice,  soft  and  very  sweet, 
singing,  — 

"  My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his, 
By  just  exchange,  one  for  another  given." 

And  Orlando's  clear  tenor  followed  her 
in  happy  repetition. 

"That  decides  it,"  I  said;  "they're 
singing  duets.    They  will  be  playing  the 
Wedding  March  in  another  minute." 
83 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

And  as  they  concluded  in  cheerful 
unison,  — 

"  My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his," 

I  rose  hastily. 

They  were  all  much  surprised  that  I 
considered  it  time  to  break  up.  None 
of  them  seemed  to  have  the  least  sense 
as  to  the  flight  of  time,  —  and  I  had 
thought  Oliver  my  trusted  ally.  At  last, 
however,  I  bore  Rosalind  relentlessly 
away. 

In  our  room  I  meant  to  say  some 
severe  things  to  her  as  to  our  necessary 
course  for  the  morrow.  But  as  I  watched 
her  bent  head  before  the  mirror  I  found 
myself  remarking  instead,  "  Do  you 
know  that  Oliver  thinks  you  are  very 
pretty?" 

"  Does  he?"  she  answered  carelessly. 

Then  most  unexpectedly  she  jumped 
up,  and  catching  my  face  between  her 
84 


WE    FIND   SOLACE   IN    MUSIC 

hands  she  looked  mockingly  into  my 
eyes.  -  -  "  And  does  he  think  you  're  so 
dreadfully  plain,  you  poor  old  Celia?" 
she  asked. 


VIII 
WE  JOURNEY  FORWARD 

Away,  away  from  men  and  towns, 
To  the  wild  wood  and  the  downs  — 
To  the  silent  wilderness 
Where  the  soul  need  not  repress 
Its  music  lest  it  should  not  find 
An  echo  in  another's  mind, 
While  the  touch  of  Nature's  art 
Harmonizes  heart  to  heart. 

P.  B.  SHELLEY. 

HE  romantic  story  -  teller 
would  insist,  I  am  sure, 
that  we,  or  at  least  Rosa- 
lind, should  wake  at  an 
early  hour  next  morning,  and  think 
over  the  unusual  events  of  the  day  be- 
fore while  restlessly  awaiting  the  dawn. 
But  contrary  to  rule,  and  despite  the  fact 
that  we  should  be  up  and  away  quite 
86 


WE   JOURNEY   FORWARD 

early  in  the  morning,  it  was  full  eight 
o'clock  when  I  opened  my  eyes  upon  a 
smiling  world. 

Beneath  the  drawn  shade  the  sun  was 
doing  its  best  to  force  an  entrance.  It 
was  this  that  had  waked  me,  I  decided, 
as  I  lay  blinking  at  the  intrusive  strip  of 
light.  But,  all  unconscious  of  interrup- 
tion, Rosalind,  in  the  little  white  bed 
beside  mine,  was  peacefully  sleeping.  I 
leaned  on  my  elbow  watching  her,  and 
could  not  find  it  in  my  heart  to  disturb 
any  one  so  happy.  With  those  shining 
curls  topped  by  a  big  blue  bow,  and 
that  uptilted,  inquisitive  little  nose  of 
hers,  she  looked  like  a  healthily  tired 
child  whom  one  would  eagerly  guard 
from  rude  awakening. 

I  have  always  sympathized  with  the 
man  who  decreed  that  his  son  should 
be  waked  each  morning  by  soft  music. 
87 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Doubtless  he,  the  poor  father,  in  his  youth 
had  been  daily  roused  by  rude  poundings 
upon  the  door,  or  even  —  who  can  say  ? 
—  by  a  vigorous  shaking. 

What  effect  might  it  not  have  upon 
one's  whole  moral  nature  to  be  thus 
suddenly  torn  from  the  mysteries  of 
sleep  and  roughly  challenged  to  meet 
the  responsibilities  of  a  new  day  !  In  the 
face  of  such  abruptness  one  would  in- 
stinctively cling  to  what  one  was  giv- 
ing up,  and  look  forward  with  suspicion 
to  that  which  lay  before  one.  These 
great  transitions  of  life  should  be  made 
gradually  and  tactfully,  —  oh,  very  tact- 
fully. 

So  I  sat  up  and  sang  softly, — 

"  The  year 's  at  the  spring 
And  day  's  at  the  morn  —  " 

Then,  as  that  did  not  wake  the  Child, 

I  rose  and  tiptoed  over  to  the  window. 

88 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

I  raised  the  curtain,  and  a  flood  of  glori- 
ous sunshine  swept  into  the  room. 

Next  to  soft  music  I  would  choose 
to  have  the  sun  awake  me,  creeping 
gently  nearer  and  nearer,  until  it  held 
me  fast  in  its  warm  embrace  and  drew 
me  persuasively  from  the  yielding  arms 
of  sleep.  Thus  must  the  shepherds  of 
old  have  wakened  from  their  dreams,  as 
they  lay  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
earth  beneath  starry  skies.  In  my  visions 
of  Vagabondia  I  have  longed  for  this, 
—  but  then  how  horrid  to  have  it  rain 
and  to  rouse  one  suddenly  by  a  wet- 
ting! 

I  looked  out  of  our  window  into  the 
depths  of  a  radiant  cherry  tree,  a  mass  of 
glorious  white  blossoms  "  fluttering  and 
dancing  in  the  breeze."  As  I  watched, 
a  gorgeous  oriole  darted  from  its  depths 
and  flew  singing  to  the  tall  elm  across 
89 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

the  lawn.  He  was  the  first  I  had  seen, 
and  I  gave  him  welcome.  Then  I  lifted 
the  other  curtains,  and  turning  watched 
the  progress  of  the  sunlight  as  it  streamed 
gradually  across  the  room.  It  enveloped 
the  Child  under  her  white  counterpane, 
and  at  last  it  kissed  her  cheek  and  tried 
to  get  a  glimpse  beneath  her  dark  lashes. 
And  then  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
smiled.  Ah,  Mother  Nature,  be  thank- 
ful for  every  child  of  thine  who  leaves 
such  sweet  dreams,  who  looks  out  with 
such  trust  upon  a  new  day,  that  she 
awakes  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

While  we  dressed  I  told  Rosalind  my 
decision  that  we  should  leave  the  inn 
directly  we  had  breakfasted.  She  ac- 
cepted the  decree  without  protest,  rather 
with  the  polite  acquiescence  of  a  child 
who,  in  complying  with  the  whim  of 
90 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

her  elders,  feels  somewhat  patronizing  and 
very  virtuous. 

"  Celia,"  she  said  after  a  little  pause, 
"  you  surely  don't  think  they  —  those 
men,  I  mean --would  bother  us  if  we 
stayed  on  here?" 

I  smiled  inwardly  at  the  term  she 
chose,  but  I  answered  in  all  severity, 
"As  to  that,  I  don't  know;  but  I  do 
know  that  one  must  observe  some  rules 
of  conventionality  even  on  the  road  to 
Arden." 

"  Celia,"  she  sighed,  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  love  adventure  as  I  do." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  I  laughed,  "  but 
surely  I  shall  find  it  in  plenty  if  I  go 
journeying  with  you,  my  lady." 

As  Rosalind's  guardian  my  decision 
was  this,  —  if  Orlando  were  so  disposed 
he  could  seek  her  out,  but  she  should  not 
be  permitted  to  linger  in  his  pathway. 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

The  conversation  continued,  with  a 
number  of  observations  on  both  sides, 
and  yet  one  would  not  call  it  an  ar- 
gument, for  those  I  believe  are  always 
heated,  and  the  Child  and  I  never  trouble 
to  quarrel,  especially  before  breakfast. 

As  we  went  downstairs,  arm  in  arm 
as  usual,  Rosalind  remarked  that  any  one 
would  know  me  for  a  Puritan,  but  for 
her  part  she  gloried  in  that  drop  of 
French  blood  bequeathed  to  her  by  some 
kind  grandmother.  I  laughed,  and  grant- 
ing her  the  last  word,  thought  the  inci- 
dent closed ;  but,  alas,  when  we  entered 
the  breakfast  room,  and  told  our  host 
the  news  that  we  must  immediately  be 
journeying  on,  he  surveyed  us  sadly. 

"  Why,  you  're  all  leavin'  me  at 
once !  "  he  exclaimed. 

We  may  have  shown  surprise.  I  hope 
not. 

92 


1   DON'T   BELIEVE  YOU   LOVE   ADVENTURE  AS  I   DO 


WE   JOURNEY   FORWARD 

"  Yes,  those  young  men  were  off  at 
seven  o'clock,"  he  added. 

When  he  had  left  us  Rosalind  pressed 
my  hand,  and  I  know  there  was  laughter 
in  her  eyes,  although  I  would  n't  look. 

"  Oh,  discreet  chaperon,"  she  mur- 
mured, "  don't  you  feel  just  a  little  bit 
foolish  ? " 

"  I  wish  we  had  gone  at  six,"  I  re- 
torted. 

Is  there  anything  more  irritating  than 
to  have  one's  wise  act  forestalled  so  that 
it  loses  all  significance  ? 

Once  started  upon  our  way,  however, 
no  past  annoyance  had  power  to  hold 
me  captive.  To  be  intimate  with  Nature, 
one  must  accept  her  at  her  own  terms. 
The  least  prejudice,  the  least  hint  of 
antagonism,  will  make  her  withdraw 
her  charms. 

93 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

As  the  ponies  sprang  like  wild  things 
from  John  Barton's  detaining  hand,  I 
felt  my  blood  tingle  and  my  muscles 
harden  in  quick  response.  To  this  need 
of  physical  activity  —  for  I  must  restrain 
them  from  breaking  their  necks  and  ours 
as  they  plunged  down  the  steep  hill 
below  the  tavern  —  there  came,  as  an 
offset,  a  pleasant  sense  of  mental  lassitude. 
Should  one  apply  a  negative  term,  I  won- 
der, and  call  it  lack  of  sense,  in  that  one 
cannot  feel  that  which  does  not  exist  ? 
But  it  is  n't  that  the  mind  under  such 
conditions  is  necessarily  vacuous;  merely 
that  old  thoughts  which  have  been 
stored  and  grown  musty  drift  away  and 
leave  it  open  to  new  impressions.  Then 
it  is  that  Nature,  finding  peace  and  seem- 
ing innocence,  seizes  her  opportunity 
and  gladly  sets  her  forces  to  work. 

What  matter  though  Rosalind  missed 
94 


WE   JOURNEY   FORWARD 

Orlando,  or  would  never  see  him  again  ? 
A  bluebird  was  swaying  in  the  apple 
boughs,  singing  of  spring  and  of  all  things 
hopeful.  What  matter  that  I  had  been 
wounded  in  that  most  delicate  spot,  a 
woman's  pride  ?  A  shower  of  cherry 
blossoms  fluttered  through  the  air  and 
fell  in  a  white  drift  across  our  pathway. 
The  ponies  hesitated,  drew  back,  and 
then,  with  a  manner  of  being  brave  at 
all  costs,  scampered  across  the  hazard- 
ous ground  into  safety. 

"  It 's  a  triumphant  progress  !  "  I 
laughed.  "  They  're  even  strewing  our 
way  with  flowers ;  and  look  at  the  ad- 
miring populace  watching  us  from  all 
sides !  " 

For  at  that   moment  a  small  rabbit 

bounded  across  the  road,  paused  on  his 

hind  legs  to  view  us,  then  swung  about 

and  posted  full  speed  into  the  thicket. 

95 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

Nick,  the  irrepressible,  gave  chase,  but 
to  no  better  purpose  than  getting  his 
face  scratched  by  the  brambles,  and  he 
returned  quite  crestfallen. 

We  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill 
in  safety,  but  apparently  our  road  was  a 
series  of  humps  and  billows,  and  having 
come  to  the  bottom,  we  must  now,  per- 
force, climb  up  again.  Whatever  are  the 
disadvantages  of  hills,  they  are  blessed 
in  that  they  may  conceal  one  knows  not 
what  wonderful  mysteries.  How  dull  by 
comparison  is  the  far  -  reaching,  self- 
evident  plain ! 

The  ponies  probably  did  not  philoso- 
phize upon  this  point,  but  they  never- 
theless regarded  the  hill  with  favor  as 
something  upon  which  to  spend  their 
spare  energy.  So  they  put  for  it  with  all 
speed,  and  with  a  scurry  and  scramble, 
while  loose  stones  rattled  down  the  road- 
96 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

bed  and  twigs  snapped  on  either  side  of 
our  narrow  way,  we  gained  the  top.  It 
reminded  me  of  a  similar  climb,  —  but 
no  !  I  would  not  recall  past  incidents. 
And  at  that  moment,  as  we  perched  on 
high,  all  four  winds  of  heaven  were  ap- 
parently let  loose.  The  rug  across  our 
knees  was  torn  from  us  and  flung  flutter- 
ing into  the  bushes,  and  Rosalind's  hat, 
twitched  roughly  aside,  was  only  saved 
by  a  stout  veil  from  sharing  a  similar 
fate.  It  was  one  of  those  tricks  of  nature 
which  reveal  so  plainly  the  mood  of  the 
person  upon  whom  they  are  played. 

I  looked  at  Rosalind  with  apprehen- 
sion, for  be  it  remembered  she  had  not 
spoken  thus  far  upon  our  journey.  Her 
hat  was  tilted  over  one  ear,  her  veil 
askew,  and  pins  apparently  were  pulling 
in  all  directions.  Then  she  laughed,  her 
gay,  infectious  laugh,  peal  upon  peal, 
97 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

and  the  wind,  which  a  moment  before 
had  sounded  quite  angry,  grew  suddenly 
merry  and  sympathetic. 

"Oh,  you  funny,  silly  old  wind!" 
she  murmured,  stretching  out  her  arms. 
"  Celia,  if  one  had  a  care  in  the  world, 
—  if,  I  say,  —  would  n't  it  blow  away 
from  this  hilltop  like  thistledown?" 

So  my  optimism  was  rewarded  quite 
out  of  proportion  to  the  effort.  Such 
undeserved  success  should  be  consola- 
tion, I  suppose,  for  the  time  one  tries 
hardest  and  reaps  no  benefit. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  because 
one  travels  a  country  road  some  miles 
from  civilization  there  are  no  diversions 
to  be  found  by  the  way.  In  fact,  if  one 
seeks  variation  and  constant  surprise, 
commend  me  to  one  of  these  apparently 
innocent  by-paths.  It  is  always  doing 
the  unexpected,  —  turning  upon  itself 
98 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

when  by  all  that  is  sensible  it  should 
proceed  straight  upon  its  way,  dipping 
into  a  cool  brown  stream  and  almost  for- 
getting to  continue  on  the  farther  side, 
until  at  last,  without  explanation  or 
apology,  it  wanders  into  a  blueberry  pas- 
ture and  disappears. 

Thus  far  on  our  morning  journey  the 
road  had  fulfilled  its  r6le  of  the  unex- 
pected by  observing  a  straightforward 
and  decorous  course.  We  were  flattering 
ourselves  that  we  were  great  explorers 
and  must  possess  large  bumps  of  locality 
when,  as  we  skirted  a  gracefully  wooded 
hill,  we  came  suddenly  upon  a  fork  in 
the  road.  Never  have  I  seen  the  upward 
and  the  downward  path  more  clearly 
defined.  There  was  no  safe  middle  course. 
One  way  led  down  into  a  pleasant  val- 
ley, the  other  straight  up  to  the  brow 
of  the  hill,  where  apparently  it  met  the 
99 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

sky.  A  prostrate  signboard,  flat  upon  its 
back,  as  though  its  days  of  usefulness 
were  over,  marked  the  downward  path. 
Rosalind  clambered  out  to  survey  it,  but 
not  a  hint  did  its  blank  face  reveal. 

"  '  There  are  milestones  on  the  Dover 
road/  "  she  murmured  reminiscently. 

"  Then,  of  course,  the  other  must  be 
the  way  to  Dorset,"  I  answered. 

The  Child  laughed  at  my  logic.  This 
in  itself  might  not  have  proved  convinc- 
ing, but  at  that  moment  Star,  character- 
istically favoring  the  easy  course,  edged 
toward  the  low  road. 

"That  decides  it,"  I  said.  "I  will 
not  be  bullied  by  that  imp  of  laziness." 
Accordingly  Rosalind  sprang  in,  and  we 
headed  the  ponies  toward  the  hill. 

For  a  time  all  went  well.  The  road 
described  no  more  than  its  usual  num- 
ber of  curves,  and  we  met  no  crossways 

100 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

where  important  decisions  must  be  made. 
But  gradually  it  occurred  to  me  that, 
whereas  the  road  which  skirted  the  hill 
had  borne  an  unmistakable  appearance 
of  going  somewhere,  the  path  which  we 
now  followed  was  so  informal  and  aim- 
less that  it  might  at  almost  any  moment 
cease  to  be.  On  either  side  the  trees 
pressed  closer  and  closer,  disputing  the 
right  of  way,  and  now  and  again  a 
young  pine  held  the  centre  of  the  road 
and  challenged  all  comers. 

Rosalind  dodged  an  overhangingbough 
which  threatened  to  unseat  her.  Then 
she  cast  me  a  roguish  glance. 

"  Well,  coz,  what  think  you  of  our 
choice  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  was  about  to  make  an  encouraging 
reply,  for  it  is  never  well  to  admit  de- 
feat, but  I  was  spared  the  necessity.  At 
that  moment  the  pomes'  ears  simulta- 
101 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

neously  pricked  forward,  and  we  knew 
that  some  creature  —  whether  man  or 
beast  —  was  approaching.  In  a  moment 
a  tall  youth  came  toward  us  around  the 
bend,  whistling  as  he  drew  near.  To 
say  that  he  walked  we  did  in  no  wise 
describe  his  gait.  He  sauntered,  he  me- 
andered, as  one  to  whom  time  and  space, 
the  world  and  its  petty  limitations,  are 
as  naught.  Abreast  of  us  he  paused,  and 
drawing  into  the  protecting  shade  of  a 
large  tree  he  surveyed  us  without  sur- 
prise, but  with  the  mild  stare  of  an  in- 
quisitive animal.  And  we,  as  befitted  the 
occasion,  stared  in  return. 

Never  have  I  seen  a  human  being 
who  belonged  more  completely  to  the 
outdoor  world.  His  lank,  sinewy  figure 
was  clad  in  a  suit  of  dull  blue  jeans ;  the 
wind  and  sun  played  riot  with  his  fair 
hair  as  it  escaped  from  under  a  small 

IO2 


WE   JOURNEY   FORWARD 

blue  cap,  and  his  eyes,  which  regarded 
us  so  simply,  were  of  that  soft,  limpid 
blue  peculiar  to  one  who  has  gazed 
all  his  life  into  deep  woods  and  clear 
streams. 

I  should  have  supposed  he  had  but 
lately  arisen  from  lying  on  his  back  and 
staring  up  at  that  wonderful  May  sky, 
but  that  across  his  shoulder  swung  an 
axe,  his  one  token  of  connection  with 
active  life. 

"Good-morning,"  we  said. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  replied.  Then 
he  stood  waiting  for  us  to  speak  again. 

It  was  impossible  to  associate  useful 
information  with  this  wood  spirit ;  still, 
I  hazarded  a  question. 

"  Does  this  road  go  anywhere  in  par- 
ticular ? "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  ay,"  he  answered  cheerfully, 
"she  does." 

103 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  Is  it  a  good  road  ? "  I  further  in- 
quired. 

At  this  he  plainly  was  puzzled.  He 
took  off  his  cap,  —  a  thing  he  had  not 
done  before,  —  and  rubbed  his  forehead 
to  promote  thought. 

"  That,"  he  responded,  after  due  de- 
liberation, "  all  depends  upon  where  you 
are  going." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  foreseeing  a  choice  of 
ways,  "  is  there  a  fork  farther  on  ? " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  answered,  "  she 's  just 
one  road." 

This  was  confusing.  Would  it  help 
matters  to  tell  him  where  we  wished  to 
go?  My  nomadic  spirit  possessed  me 
and  made  me  long  to  say  that  we  had 
no  destination,  but  merely  wished  to  fol- 
low wherever  the  road  chose  to  lead. 
Rosalind,  however,  the  ever  practical, 
filled  the  breach.  Turning  to  our  friend 
104 


WE    JOURNEY   FORWARD 

with  that  air  of  unconscious  dignity  with 
which  she  would  address  lord  and  vas- 
sal alike,  she  said  sweetly,  "  We  wish  to 
go  to  Dorset." 

Again  the  youth  considered,  this  time 
with  eyes  downcast  and  thoughtful.  Then, 
looking  up,  he  solemnly  observed,  "  I 
scarce  think  she  will  take  you  there." 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked,  jumping  at  the  ob- 
vious conclusion.  "  Does  n't  the  road  go 
to  Dorset?" 

"Oh,  ay,"  he  responded  again,  "she 
goes  there." 

It  was  becoming  complicated.  Here 
was  a  road  leading  to  Dorset,  with  no 
turn  to  right  nor  left,  and  it  was  a  good 
road,  and  yet  it  would  not  carry  us 
thither.  Our  youth  stood  waiting,  ap- 
parently for  further  questions. 

"  Does  the  way  grow  narrower,  and  are 
the  woods  deeper  farther  on  ? "  I  asked. 
105 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  Nay,  nay,"  he  answered,  "  it  grows 
more  open,  and  there  is  a  pleasant  pro- 
spect." 

"  Then  there  are  no  overhanging 
branches  to  sweep  us  from  our  seats  ? " 
asked  Rosalind. 

"  Not  one,"  he  replied. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  stream  across 
the  road,"  I  suggested.  "  We  don't 
mind." 

But  no,  the  stream,  he  said,  ran 
through  the  valley  far  below. 

The  Child  and  I  looked  at  each 
other  for  counsel.  Then  I  gathered  up 
my  reins,  and  we  thanked  our  strange 
informant.  His  parting  remark,  uttered 
in  a  troubled  voice  as  we  drove  away, 
we  accepted  as  a  challenge. 

"  I  scarce  think  she  will  take  you 
there." 

We  could  not  retrace  our  steps  for 
1 06 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

two  miles  and  give  up  a  road  which, 
whatever  its  faults,  at  least  possessed  the 
virtue  of  leading  to  Dorset.  Besides,  we 
were  frankly  curious.  As  though  to  en- 
courage us  in  our  decision  the  road  at 
this  point  started  away  bravely,  and  for 
at  least  half  a  mile  we  pursued  an  un- 
broken course.  Then,  in  the  thick  of 
some  tall,  waving  grasses,  it  hesitated 
and  grew  faint,  to  make  a  fresh  spurt, 
however,  through  the  woods  just  be- 
yond. 

The  ponies  took  heart,  and  swinging 
into  a  brisk  trot  we  sped  through  a  strip 
of  pine  wood  where  the  wind  was  sing- 
ing and  the  sun  was  dancing  in  bright 
patches,  and  out  upon  a  little  clearing. 
The  trodden  pine  needles  gave  springy 
foothold.  Garter  positively  frisked,  and 
Star  did  not  reprove  him.  We  swung 
round  a  bend  at  reckless  pace,  and  then, 
107 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

startled,  incredulous,  they  came  at  my 
command  to  a  sudden  halt.  In  our  path- 
way lay  a  great  fallen  pine,  completely 
blocking  the  road,  and  stretching  on 
either  side  far  into  the  bushes. 

Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  clamber  out  and  survey  the  situ- 
ation. This  we  did  sadly,  for  we  had 
been  pleased  to  consider  ourselves  un- 
daunted, and  this  obstacle,  we  were  forced 
to  agree,  was  beyond  our  power  to  turn 
aside.  Then  we  looked  at  each  other 
and  laughed,  as  the  truth  was  borne  in 
upon  us. 

"  '  I  scarce  think  it  will  take  you  to 
Dorset,' '  Rosalind  murmured  in  the 
midst  of  her  merriment. 

"  But  there 's  nothing  wrong  with 
the  road"  I  reminded  her.  "You  can't 
deny  that."  And  we  laughed  afresh. 

"  Oh  !  And  here  is  the  '  pleasant  pro- 
108 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

spect,'  : '  Rosalind  called  a  moment  later, 
as  she  ran  on  ahead,  and  I  had  stopped 
a  moment  to  console  the  disheartened 
ponies. 

I  climbed  over  the  big  tree,  whose 
straggling  branches  like  detaining  fingers 
caught  my  skirt,  and  followed  her.  Yes, 
our  guide  had  been  right  in  this  as  in 
other  matters.  Our  road  lay  almost  at 
the  top  of  a  high  hill,  and  from  this 
open  space,  where  the  woods  had  been 
cut  away,  we  could  look  far  down  the 
valley. 

"  That  peaceful  valley  we  should  have 
sought,'*  Rosalind  said. 

And  beyond  —  mysterious,  alluring, 
shadowed  by  changing  clouds  —  lay  the 
Dorset  hills. 

"Why  not  enjoy  them  from  a  dis- 
tance before  we  set  out  to  find  them 
again  ? "  I  suggested. 
109 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

"  Yes,"  Rosalind  agreed,  "it  may  be 
the  nearest  to  them  we  shall  ever  be." 

To  philosophize  on  a  log,  even  in  the 
face  of  adversity,  we  are  always  ready. 
So  we  settled  ourselves  on  the  prostrate 
pine,  and  let  the  sun's  warmth  sink  into 
our  very  depths. 

And  then  an  odd  thing  happened. 
Nick  barked,  the  ponies  lifted  their  loll- 
ing heads  and  listened.  Then  our  own 
dull  human  ears  heard  a  plaintive  whis- 
tle, and  round  the  bend,  axe  over  his 
shoulder,  came  our  erstwhile  friend.  He 
seemed  scarcely  to  look  at  us,  but  came 
straight  on,  evidently  directed  by  a  single 
purpose.  We  wondered  if  he  would 
stride  over  our  pine  tree  in  his  deter- 
mined march.  Here,  however,  he  sud- 
denly stopped. 

"  I  came  back,"  he  observed  calmly, 
"  to  cut  her  away  for  you."  And  with 
no 


WE   JOURNEY   FORWARD 

that  he  swung  his  axe  high  in  air  and 
dealt  the  big  trunk  a  mighty  blow. 

Rosalind  and  I  sat  foolishly  staring 
at  him  as  stroke  after  stroke  descended 
and  the  chips  flew  from  beneath  the  bright 
blade.  Whatever  the  limitations  of  our 
wood  spirit,  there  was  no  doubt  of  his 
ability  to  swing  an  axe.  We  watched 
the  lithe  figure  with  fascinated  eyes. 
Never  have  I  so  envied  a  man  his 
strength.  With  a  final  blow  he  struck 
the  great  tree  asunder.  Then  without 
pause  he  moved  on  a  pace,  and  mark- 
ing with  his  eye  a  new  spot,  he  attacked 
it  with  the  same  accuracy  and  with  fresh 
vigor. 

It  began  to  dawn  on  Rosalind  and 
me  that  it  would  be  wise  to  move  from 
the  path  of  progress,  as  we  felt  sure  that 
our  presence  would  in  no  way  delay  his 
advance. 

in 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

In  a  few  moments  the  middle  portion 
of  the  tree  was  cut  into  two  sections, 
and,  glad  to  be  of  service,  we  helped 
him  swing  the  big  logs  out  of  the  road. 
Conventional  thanks  seemed  out  of  keep- 
ing with  this  strange  youth,  but  we 
tried  to  show  him  our  gratitude.  As  we 
seated  ourselves  in  the  runabout,  and  he 
stood  pensively  by,  I  saw  the  corners  of 
Rosalind's  mouth  twitch,  and  I  knew 
that  a  question  was  hovering. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  asked,  leaning  for- 
ward impulsively,  "  why  you  did  n't  say 
there  was  a  tree  across  the  road  ? " 

A  look  of  wonder  came  into  his  serene 
blue  eyes. 

"  You  did  n't  ask  me,"  he  answered. 

Then  once  more  he  shouldered  his 
axe,  and  plaintively  whistling  he  saun- 
tered on  his  way.  And  we,  in  the  oppo- 
site direction,  went  ours. 

112 


WE  JOURNEY   FORWARD 

At  a  little  distance  we  saw  snuggled 
against  the  hillside  a  small  cottage,  from 
whose  chimney  the  smoke  was  cheer- 
fully curling. 

"  That  is  where  he  lives,"  Rosalind 
said  with  conviction,  "  and  his  mother 
is  cooking  dinner  for  him." 

"  How  does  she  ever  know  when  to 
do  it  ?"  I  mused. 

"  He  probably  never  will  have  a  wife, 
—  dear  soul,"  Rosalind  continued,  "  but 
his  mother  is  good  and  kind,  I  know. 
She  is  a  canny  Scotch  woman,  and  she 
and  her  *  gude  mon  '  have  laid  by  a  snug 
little  sum;  so  I  'm  sure  he'll  always  wan- 
der in  the  woods  at  will,  and  just  chop 
trees  when  the  spirit  moves  him." 

And  with  that  explanation  we  were 
content.  We  liked  to  leave  the  incident 
shrouded  in  pleasant  mystery. 


IX 

A  PAUSE  IN  THE  JOURNEY 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I  found  thee  here, 
And  Innocence,  thy  sister  dear  ? 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men. 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  below, 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow; 
Society  is  all  but  rude 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

ANDREW  MARVELL. 

E  are  dwellers  in  Peace  Vale, 
a  fairy-like  hollow  among 
the  hills.  It  was  well  named 
by  Miss  Penelope,  our 
hostess,  wonderful  little  lady  in  gray, 
with  the  childlike  face  and  the  serious 
eyes.  She  agrees  with  me  that  in  the 
olden  days  this  must  have  been  the  home 
of  elves  and  wood  spirits,  who  danced 
114 


A   PAUSE   IN  THE  JOURNEY 

all  night  across  the  hilltops  and  scur- 
ried down  into  the  valley  for  sleep  each 
morning  when  the  sun  peeped  over  and 
caught  them  at  their  revels.  And  when 
civilization  pressed  too  close  and  they 
were  forced  to  flee,  —  for  fairies  and 
human  beings  do  not  dwell  in  harmony 
together,  —  they  left  behind  their  spirit 
of  peace  and  innocent  mirth. 

It  must  be  this  spirit  which  descended 
upon  Miss  Penelope,  but  it  could  not 
have  so  transfigured  her  had  it  not  found 
an  answering  spirit  within.  I  have  al- 
ways regarded  her  as  "  little  lower  than 
the  angels";  which  does  not  mean  that 
she  sits  on  a  pedestal  and  glorifies  God, 
but  that  she  is  the  most  vividly  human 
woman  I  have  ever  known,  blessed  with 
a  positive  talent  for  sympathy  and  the 
saving  grace  of  humor.  She  is  intensely 
human,  I  say,  and  yet  she  is  curiously 
"5 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

detached  from   the  hurly-burly  of  the 
world.   Her  ways  are  not  our  ways. 

Long  ago  she  was  a  schoolgirl  in 
Ralston.  Then  it  was  that  she  first  knew 
Rosalind's  mother  and  mine;  and  some- 
times it  seems  as  though  everybody's 
mother  knew  this  apparently  obscure 
little  lady.  Her  lover  was  wounded  at 
the  close  of  the  war.  She  nursed  him 
till  he  died,  and  then  she  came  to  Dor- 
set to  live  out  her  life  among  its  quiet 
hills.  But  it  has  not  been  a  sad  or  a  self- 
ish life,  nor,  in  spite  of  its  retirement, 
quite  the  life  of  a  recluse.  She  loves 
children,  and  has  worked  for  them.  She 
has  helped  in  the  improvement  of  the 
school  system.  She  has  read  and  studied, 
and  has  diffused  her  knowledge  instead 
of  locking  it  up  inside  her  own  brain. 
She  has  poured  out  her  spirit  upon  all 
men;  for  those  who  are  heavy  laden  and 
116 


A  PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

those  who  are  not  have  come  to  her  out 
of  the  heat  and  turmoil,  and  her  home 
has  been  a  refuge  and  a  joy  to  many. 

In  appearance  it  is  just  the  sort  of 
house  in  which  one  would  expect  her 
to  live,  —  white  and  vine-clad,  with  its 
green  blinds  and  sheltering  eaves.  There 
is  a  low-arched  gateway  which  makes 
the  entrance  from  the  road,  and  in  sum- 
mer time  it  is  gay  with  climbing  roses. 
And  through  the  opening  you  may  catch 
a  glimpse  on  the  southerly  slope  of  Miss 
Penelope's  garden,  and  beyond,  the  blue, 
billowing  line  of  the  Dorset  hills. 

As  Rosalind  and  I  stopped  at  the  gate 
in  the  heat  of  that  May  noon,  warm 
and  dusty,  and  very  hungry,  we  were  a 
thankful  pair  in  reaching  this  haven  of 
rest.  We  looked  down  the  flagged  walk 
which  leads  from  the  porch,  bordered 

by   tulips,  yellow  and  white,  nodding 
117 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

their  welcome  to  us.  Then,  through  the 
open  doorway,  came  Miss  Penelope  her- 
self, and  with  a  joyous  greeting  she  flut- 
tered down  the  path  to  meet  us.  Face  to 
face  with  her,  I  too  was  enveloped  in 
that  sense  of  utter  tranquillity,  and  for- 
got that  it  was  possible  to  feel  out  of 
tune. 

For,  be  it  confessed,  despite  my  alleged 
harmony  with  nature,  I  had  allowed  my 
feelings  to  become  sorely  ruffled.  Had 
I  not  fair  excuse  ?  As  the  ponies  toiled 
up  the  last  hill  separating  us  from  elu- 
sive Dorset,  as  we  gazed  down  upon  a 
smiling  valley  and  caught  a  drowsy  vil- 
lage napping  in  the  sun,  our  vision  had 
become  suddenly,  rudely  obscured. 

"  Who  dares  obstruct  our  view  ? "  I 
said. 

Rosalind  laughed  —  nervously,  I 
thought.  I  looked  again.  A  hated  mon- 
118 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

ster — the  hated  monster,  it  could  be 
none  other  —  stood  motionless,  full  in 
our  pathway.  And  in  the  dust  beside 
it,  tinkering  merrily  as  though  fulfilling 
their  one  object  in  life,  groveled  Or- 
lando and  Oliver. 

"  Really,"  I  said,  "  this  is  too  exas- 
perating !  It  looks  just  as  though  we 
had  found  out  their  course  and  had  fol- 
lowed them  hot-foot." 

"  Celia,"  Rosalind  observed,  "  you 
grow  self-conscious.  'T  is  a  bad  sign." 

Were  it  possible  to  achieve,  I  cer- 
tainly would  have  forced  animation  into 
those  drooping  ponies,  and  have  flour- 
ished by,  regardless  of  all  courtesies  of 
the  road.  But,  unfortunately,  the  mon- 
ster, with  wonted  insolence,  occupied 
nearly  all  the  space,  and  to  pass  it  would 
require  skillful  manoeuvre.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  ignominiously  to  draw 
119 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

rein  and  to  receive  the  greetings  of  these 
utterly  disreputable-looking  wayfarers. 
They  came  forward  smiling  so  cheer- 
fully through  thick  coatings  of  dust, 
that  evidently  the  next  greatest  pleasure 
to  pottering  with  the  car  was  that  of 
blocking  our  path. 

"A  puncture?"  inquired  Rosalind, 
casting  a  professional  glance. 

"  Worse!  "  exclaimed  Orlando,  in  an 
important  tone.  "  The  shoe  went,  too." 

"  I  thought  only  horses  lost  shoes," 
I  ventured.  "  I  did  n't  know  motors  cast 
them  as  well." 

"Would  to  goodness  they  did!" 
laughed  Oliver,  promptly  answering  me, 
though  I  had  not  deigned  to  address 
him.  "  Unfortunately,  it  was  Orlando 
and  I  who  had  to  pull  it  off,  and  now 
we  are  struggling  with  the  new  one. 
It  looks  like  an  all-morning's  job." 

120 


A  PAUSE   IN   THE   JOURNEY 

His  voice,  intended  to  be  plaintive, 
rang  with  ill-concealed  triumph  in  work 
well  done.  Why  is  it  that  motorists  are 
so  self-satisfied  with  everything  they  do  ? 

"  At  least  that  will  keep  them  safely 
here  for  a  time,"  I  thought,  waxing  hotter 
in  my  feeling  of  injured  dignity. 

Rosalind  had  slipped  out  to  survey 
the  car,  and  pass  judgment  on  the  work, 
she  said. 

Oliver  came  and  leaned  upon  my 
wheel  in  his  favorite  attitude.  There 
was  no  use  in  reminding  him  that  it  was 
dusty.  A  little  dirt,  more  or  less,  could 
make  no  impression  upon  his  person. 

"  What  a  faculty  you  have  for  getting 
in  our  way !  "  I  remarked,  as  he  stood 
smiling  at  me  quite  foolishly  and  saying 
nothing. 

"  Surely  you  don't  lay  this  up  against 
us,"  he  answered  blandly.  "You  can't 

121 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

say  we  were  n't  off  betimes  this  morn- 
ing." 

I  flushed  with  vexation  that  I  had 
given  him  this  opening,  of  which  of 
course  he  had  taken  prompt  advantage. 
It  was  as  I  thought;  not  only  was  the 
impression  conveyed  that  they  had  fled 
from  us,  but  that  we  had  pursued  and 
run  them  to  earth.  I  scorned  to  meet 
his  eyes,  which  I  knew  were  observing 
me  quizzically. 

"  Come,  Rosalind  !  "  I  called,  with 
dignity,  I  hope,  in  my  voice.  "  We  must 
hurry.  You  know  Miss  Penelope  is  ex- 
pecting us  for  a  one  o'clock  dinner." 

"  Ah  !  "  Oliver  remarked,  pulling  out 
his  watch,  "  then  you  can  tell  her  that 
we  are  unavoidably  detained,  and  shall 
be  a  little  late." 

This  was  too  much.  "  Surely,"  I  said, 
"you  are  not  going  there !  " 


122 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  he  answered  cheer- 
ily. "  Who  has  a  better  right?" 

Evidently  he  was  ready  to  discuss  the 
question  at  length,  but  by  this  time  I 
had  worked  myself  into  quite  a  heat, 
and  even  into  the  belief  that  I  had  no 
curiosity  in  the  matter.  Thereupon  I 
insisted  that  Rosalind  should  come. 

Then,  with  difficulty  piloting  the 
ponies  through  the  hazardous  passage, 
fervently  hoping  we  should  come  to  no 
harm,  for  I  had  proudly  declined  aid,  we 
drove  away. 

"  We  shall  be  there  in  about  half  an 
hour,"  was  Oliver's  parting  assurance. 

Rosalind,  with  woeful  lack  of  dig- 
nity, looked  back  as  we  turned  the 
bend. 

"  Not  unless  they  set  to  work  soon," 
she  observed.    And  I  saw  a  flutter  of 
white  handkerchief  as  she  spoke. 
123 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

When  we  told  Miss  Penelope  that 
Orlando  and  Oliver  were  on  their  way 
hither  she  accepted  the  news  calmly,  as 
she  accepts  most  things.  She  remarked 
that  she  had  expected  them  to  visit  her, 
though  not  quite  so  soon,  and  she  would 
have  gone  on  to  give  us  the  life  history 
of  each  from  his  cradle  upward,  but  I 
restrained  her. 

"  Miss  Pennie,"  I  said  severely,  "  we 
must  keep  some  mystery  about  this  affair, 
which  is  becoming  sadly  commonplace, 
and  you  must  help  us  preserve  our  incog- 
nito." 

So  she  laughingly  agreed,  and  con- 
tented herself  with  telling  us  that  Oliver 
was  the  son  of  one  of  her  dearest  school- 
mates. How  could  there  have  been  girls 
enough  in  that  school,  I  wonder,  to  be- 
come the  mothers  of  the  children  scat- 
tered broadcast  over  the  earth ! 
124 


A  PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

Miss  Penelope  is  not  one  of  those 
timid  souls  who  recoil  from  harboring 
four  young  persons  of  opposite  sexes  un- 
der their  roof  for  fear  that  "  something 
may  come  of  it."  She  said  she  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  giving  house  parties,  so 
the  prospect  of  this  impromptu  one  was 
all  the  more  delightful,  and  she  tripped 
away  to  make  preparations. 

As  for  me,  responsibility  coolly  slid 
from  my  shoulders  like  a  superfluous 
garment,  and  the  mantle  of  peace  de- 
scended in  its  place  when  I  mounted 
the  stairs  to  my  little  blue  bedroom. 
I  have  always  called  it  the  Florentine 
room.  Its  blue  walls  suggest  Italian 
skies  to  me,  and  they  are  hung  with 
pictures  whose  famous  originals  one  has 
known  and  loved  in  Florence.  And  oh, 
the  joy  of  viewing  them  without  that 
inevitable  crick  in  the  back  of  the  neck  ! 
125 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Once  the  power  of  association  was  so 
strong  that  Rosalind  and  I  agreed  we 
couldn't  see  a  copy  of  a  foreign  painting 

—  no  matter  when  or  where — without 
a  recurrence  of  that  painful   sensation. 
But  I  have  outlived  that  feeling,  and  I 
sank  down  on  my  springy  couch,  revel- 
ing in  the  sense  of  time  to  spare. 

Here  is  Raphael's  John  the  Baptist, 

—  thoughtful,  spiritual  boy,  in  whose 
sad  eyes  seems  to  lurk  a  prescient  know- 
ledge of  his  unhappy  destiny.   Here  is 
the  beautiful   Madonna   and    Child  of 
Murillo.   He  is  a  real  babe,  this  Holy 
Child,  no  doll  with  flabby  cheeks,  such 
as  the  old  masters  loved  to  paint.    He 
gazes  out  trustingly  upon  an  unknown 
world,  but  the  Mother  cherishes  him  as 
though  she  would  guard  him  from  the 
trials  she  foresees. 

Floating  against  their  blue  background 
126 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE   JOURNEY 

are  Michael  Angelo's  sweet-faced  angels 
in  their  flowing  draperies,  harmonious 
in  color  and  form.  But  oh,  why  should 
they  be  so  round-shouldered  ?  Is  it  the 
eternal  bearing  of  wings,  I  wonder, 
which  has  brought  about  this  pitiful 
result  ? 

From  above  my  dressing-table,  in  his 
brown,  carved  frame,  the  little  swathed 
Bambino  smiles  down  at  me.  Surely  my 
coming  would  lack  something  were  he 
not  here  to  greet  me. 

Miss  Penelope  has  never  been  abroad, 
but  her  friends  who  go  know  her  artistic 
taste  and  love  to  gratify  it.  She  stays  at 
home,  reads  and  studies,  and  knows  far 
more  of  the  Old  World  treasures  in  lit- 
erature and  art  than  the  eager  tourist 
who  rushes  frantically  from  place  to 
place,  under  the  impression  that  he  is 

"  doing  the  galleries." 
127 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

It  was  toward  the  middle  of  the  after- 
noon when  Orlando  and  Oliver  arrived, 
in  a  humbled  and  chastened  spirit.  And 
after  all  I  think  they  will  not  be  greatly 
in  our  way.  Of  course  it  was  not  long 
before  Orlando  and  Rosalind  disappeared 
over  the  hills  together;  but  I  am  dis- 
posed to  be  lenient,  for  I  welcome  any 
one  who  will  be  a  diversion  from  that 
horrid  steamer  person. 

Miss  Penelope  was  planning  her  flower- 
beds, which  are  soon  to  be  planted  anew, 
and  so  I  gladly  followed  her  into  the 
garden.  I  perched  on  the  rustic  seat 
by  the  sun-dial  and  listened  to  her  gen- 
tle talk,  or  walked  with  her  along  the 
grassy  paths  when  she  asked  my  advice. 
The  position  of  each  bed  had  to  be 
carefully  considered,  and  the  character- 
istic of  every  plant  which  was  to  dwell 

therein.  For  her  power  of  understand- 
128 


A  PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

ing  is  as  clear  among  flowers  as  among 
people,  so  they,  too,  must  feel  encouraged 
to  do  their  best  for  her. 

"  The  poor  nasturtiums  did  n't  do  well 
last  summer,"  Miss  Penelope  lamented, 
as  she  paused  by  a  corner  of  the  rustic 
fence.  "We  must  plant  them  at  the 
other  end  this  year,  where  they  '11  have 
plenty  of  sunshine,  —  they  do  love  it  so! 
As  for  the  sunflowers,  those  maples  over 
the  fence  have  quite  encroached  on  their 
domain,  and  put  them  completely  in  the 
shade.  And  we  must  see  that  the  mi- 
gnonette and  heliotrope  have  more  water 
this  spring.  They  were  a  bit  discouraged 
last  year,  poor  dears  ! " 

Thus  the  gentle  lady  went  from  bed 
to  bed,  explaining  or  excusing  where 
excuse  seemed  necessary.  Surely  it  is  the 
maternal  instinct,  I  thought,  as  I  watched 
her.  Just  in  this  way  would  a  mother 
129 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

account  for  the  shortcomings  of  her  most 
wayward  child.  The  conditions  were 
against  him ;  there  were  obstacles  which 
prevented  success;  he  would  have  done 
well  had  he  been  given  a  better  chance. 
I  smiled  tenderly  as  I  thought  of  the 
mistaken  mothers  who  make  just  such 
apologies,  and  I  thanked  Heaven  for 
them. 

"  Miss  Pennie,"  I  asked  teasingly, 
"  will  anything  persuade  your  nemoph- 
ila  to  grow  ?  I  slaved  early  and  late 
for  mine  last  summer.  I  positively  grov- 
eled before  it,  and  it  repaid  me  by  lying 
down  and  dying,  and  leaving  me  with  a 
large  vacant  patch  in  the  most  conspic- 
uous spot  in  my  garden.  I  don't  believe 
care  makes  any  difference,  —  it  is  just 
totally  depraved." 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  don't  say  that !  " 
Miss  Penelope  exclaimed,  with  such 
130 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

warmth  that  I  smiled  at  the  truth  of 
my  conviction.  "Put  it  in  a  more  shel- 
tered place  this  year,  and  give  it  another 
chance." 

"  How  about  the  larkspur  and  lilies?" 
I  asked,  as  we  stood  at  the  farther  end 
of  the  garden,  where  the  tall  fence  made 
a  sheltering  background. 

"  They  shall  have  their  same  corner," 
Miss  Penelope  answered.  "  Somehow 
they  seem  to  preside  over  the  garden 
and  give  it  a  special  dignity." 

"  Indeed  they  do!"  I  answered,  and 
I  remembered  a  fragrant  summer  even- 
ing when  they  stood  bathed  in  moon- 
light, and  Miss  Penelope  hovered  over 
them  like  some  fair  votaress  at  a  shrine. 

As  we  stood  there,  deep  in  plans  and 

recollections,  Oliver  sauntered  in  with 

his  pipe.    He  has  an  unintrusive  way  of 

making  his  appearance,  which  I  rather 

'31 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

like,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  may  take 
me  or  leave  me,  whichever  you  prefer." 
Somehow  it  makes  me  feel  much  more 
like  talking  to  him  than  if  he  came 
with  that  all-conquering  air  which  some 
men  like  to  assume.  That  is  the  kind 
I  invariably  snub. 

So  we  strolled  about  the  garden,  and 
watched  Miss  Penelope  from  a  little  dis- 
tance, for  she  seemed  to  become  more 
absorbed  than  ever  in  her  work. 

"  She 's  the  most  lovable  woman  I 
have  ever  known  !  "  Oliver  exclaimed 
impulsively. 

I  warmly  agreed  with  him. 

"And  do  you  know  why?"  I  asked. 

Then  I  went  on  more  slowly,  trying 
to  put  my  thoughts  into  words.  "  It 
always  seems  to  me  it 's  because  she  un- 
derstands sorrow  so  perfectly.  She  has 
had  so  much  trouble,  and  yet  she  is  n't 
132 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

sad,  for  she  has  a  sweet  intimacy  with 
grief  instead  of  shunning  it,  and  being 
afraid  of  it  like  some  of  us." 

I  was  alarmed  the  moment  I  had 
spoken,  fearing  that  Oliver  would  think 
me  mawkishly  sentimental,  or,  worse, 
that  he  would  prove  one  of  those  fool- 
ish persons  who  think,  just  because  you 
are  young  and  prosperous,  "  What  can 
you  know  of  trouble  ! "  But,  instead,  a 
serious  light  came  into  his  usually  laugh- 
ing eyes. 

"  You  are  right/'  he  answered  gravely. 

What  a  reasonable  person  he  is ! 

At  the  southern  end  of  the  garden  are 
grass-grown  steps  leading  down  to  the 
smooth  lawn  below.  There  one  looks 
across  the  valley  where  the  fairies  used 
to  dwell,  to  the  silent  hills  which  en- 
fold it.  And  between  the  hills  a  slender 
church  spire  is  outlined  against  the  sky. 
'33 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Oliver  asked  me  if  I  knew  the  his- 
tory of  the  church,  which  I  only  vaguely 
remembered.  So  he  told  me  how  it  was 
built  by  a  certain  rich  young  man  who, 
apparently  like  his  namesake  of  old,  had 
fears  that  he  could  not  enter  the  King- 
dom of  Heaven.  And  the  story  was  so 
interesting  that  we  did  not  notice  when 
Miss  Penelope  left  the  garden. 

We  lingered,  watching  the  sun  slip 
down  behind  the  hills,  till  suddenly  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Orlando  and  Rosa- 
lind coming  up  the  slope.  I  made  a  hur- 
ried departure,  for  in  my  capacity  as  care- 
taker I  must  be  indoors  when  my  charge 
came  home. 

The  nicest  thing  that  has  happened 

at  Peace  Vale  is  that  I  have  found  a 

secluded  little   nook,    near   a  bubbling 

stream  and  sheltered  by  tall  trees,  where 

'34 


A   PAUSE   IN   THE  JOURNEY 

I  can  come  quite  by  myself.  So,  armed 
with  pen  and  paper,  I  have  spent  my  past 
few  mornings  here  writing  up  these  hum- 
ble chronicles,  these  wanderings  of  Rosa- 
lind and  Celia.  Here  I  shall  continue  to 
come  and  jot  down  our  daily  experiences ; 
for  they  say  if  one  would  excel  in  the 
art  of  writing,  one  must  begin  by  setting 
down  simple  facts. 


X 

I  FIND  A  NEW  FRIEND 

Enough  of  Science  and  of  Art ; 

Close  up  these  barren  leaves ; 
Come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart 

That  watches  and  receives. 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 

>HE  other  morning,  returning 
from  one  of  my  rambles, 
I  passed  a  little  gray  house, 
old  and  weather-beaten,  but 
conspicuously  neat,  and  wearing  a  con- 
scious air  of  dignity.  At  the  front  win- 
dow sat  a  small,  elderly  woman,  looking 
out  rather  wistfully,  it  seemed  to  me. 
Involuntarily  I  smiled  and  nodded.  She 
looked  surprised,  as  one  saying  to  her- 
self, "  Surely  we  have  had  no  introduc- 
tion ! "  Then  suddenly  her  face  bright- 
136 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

ened,  and  she  gave  me  a  pleased,  grateful 
little  nod.  And  I  felt  glad  that  I  had  hap- 
pened to  pass  that  way. 

"  Miss  Pennie,"  I  asked  that  evening 
at  supper,  "  who  is  the  little  gray  lady 
who  lives  in  the  little  gray  house  ?  " 

"Ah,"  Miss  Penelope  answered,  need- 
ing no  further  explanation,  "  that  is  Cyn- 
thia Wood,  poor  dear." 

"  Why  «  poor  dear  '  ?  "  I  asked. 

Miss  Penelope  was  a  little  absent- 
minded  as  she  poured  the  tea. 

"  It 's  been  lonely  for  her  since  Jack 
died,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh!'3  I  said,  feeling  the  note  of 
tragedy  here.  "  And  who  was  Jack,  — 
her  son  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  dear.  Jack  was  her  dog,  a 
little  black-and-tan.  No,"  as  she  set 
down  with  care  the  massive  silver  tea- 
pot, "  I  fear  the  loss  of  her  son  would 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

not  have  been  so  hard  to  bear.  He  has 
been  away  most  of  his  life,  and  no  com- 
fort to  her.  Once,  when  she  had  n't 
heard  from  him  for  months,  he  wrote 
her  at  Christmas  and  sent  her  a  kiss.  It 
seemed  an  unsubstantial  gift." 

"  Miss  Pennie,"  laughed  Oliver, "  that 's 
the  first  uncharitable  remark  I  've  ever 
heard  you  make,  and  as  for  saying  that 
she  cared  more  for  her  dog  than  for  her 
son  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  say  exactly  that,  dear," 
Miss  Penelope  gently  corrected,  "  but 
that  she  would  miss  him  more.  Then 
her  husband  is  a  sad  trial,"  she  added, 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Does  he  go  away  and  leave  her, 
too?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh  no,  dear,  never !  She  probably 
wishes  he  would.  He  has  a  harmless 
softening  of  the  brain  and  can't  do  much 
138 


I   FIND  A   NEW   FRIEND 

but  potter  about  the  place  and  talk  to 
himself.  My  dear,  I  wish  you  would  go 
to  see  Cynthia;  she  would  appreciate  it 
so  much." 

"  I  shall  go  to-morrow  afternoon,"  I 
answered  eagerly. 

"  We  might  form  a  relief  expedition," 
Oliver  suggested.  "  I  could  detain  the 
old  man  in  the  background,  and  en- 
courage him  to  talk  to  himself,  while 
the  old  lady  pours  out  her  soul  to  you 
about  Jacky." 

But  I  must  have  ignored  him,  for  I 
made  the  expedition  next  day  alone. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon,  bright 
and  warm,  but  not  oppressive.  I  had 
a  pleasant  sense  of  exhilaration  and  of 
having  enjoyed  my  walk,  as  I  opened 
the  gate  in  front  of  the  little  gray  house. 
In  the  yard  I  found  the  old  man.  There 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

was  no  mistaking  him.  Certainly  he  was 
"pottering  about."  Armed  with  a  huge 
spade,  he  stood  gazing  dubiously  at  the 
neat  flower-beds  which  bordered  the  path . 
As  I  greeted  him  he  set  the  spade  down, 
produced  a  huge  silk  handkerchief,  and 
mopped  his  brow. 

"  Hot,"  he  murmured,  "  s'  hot  I  sweat 
standin'  still." 

"  Then  why  not  try  moving  about  and 
doing  some  work  ?  "  I  suggested. 

But  he  merely  regarded  me  vacantly, 
and  I  passed  on  up  the  steps.  The  little 
lady  met  me  at  the  door. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come  back," 
she  said,  speaking  as  though  to  an  old 
friend.  "  I  've  been  thinkin'  of  you  ever 
since  you  passed  by." 

"I  'm  a  friend  of  Miss  Penelope,"  I 
ventured,  by  way  of  introduction,  "  and 
am  staying  at  Peace  Vale." 
140 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  that  is  pleasant 
news." 

A  radiant  smile  brightened  her  plain 
little  face,  and  somehow  I  knew  she 
liked  me,  and  would  have  made  me  wel- 
come had  I  offered  no  explanation. 

"  Come  in,  my  dear,"  she  urged ;  and 
she  ushered  me  into  the  little  front 
room. 

It  looked  and  smelled  like  all  best 
parlors.  There  was  a  melodeon,  a  centre 
table,  and  a  horsehair  sofa.  Over  the 
mantel  hung  a  crayon  "portograph"  of 
herself  and  her  husband,  made  appar- 
ently some  years  before.  He  was  seated 
in  a  plush  chair,  and  she  stood  by  his 
side,  her  (hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Be- 
neath it  hung  their  marriage  certificate. 

"  As  though  one  could  have  doubted," 
I  found  myself  murmuring. 

On  the  table  was  the  inevitable  plush 
141 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

album,  and  the  "  God  Bless  Our  Home," 
worked  in  blue  and  yellow  worsted, 
hung  over  the  sofa. 

My  hostess  led  me  to  a  chair  by  the 
window  and  seated  herself  opposite  with 
a  contented  sigh. 

"  Now  we  '11  have  a  good  talk,"  she 
said  expectantly.  "  It 's  real  lonesome 
most  of  the  time." 

She  folded  her  hands  with  that  air 
of  relief  which  belongs,  I  am  sure,  only 
to  one  who  has  toiled  throughout  the 
morning,  and  now  realizes  her  time  for 
rest  is  come.  She  wore  a  neat  black 
dress,  with  fresh  white  linen  at  throat 
and  wrists.  It  gave  her  such  an  appear- 
ance of  readiness  for  any  social  occasion 
which  might  arise,  that  I  found  myself 
wondering  if  some  other  guest  had  been 
expected. 

Immediately  I  discovered  that  one 
142 


I   FIND  A   NEW   FRIEND 

could  cherish  no  unspoken  thought  un- 
known to  Cynthia.  She  peered  at  me 
brightly  over  the  top  of  her  spectacles, 
then  smoothed  the  folds  of  her  black 
alpaca  with  a  caressing  hand.  It  might 
have  been  the  traditional  cloth  of  gold, 
so  reverential  was  her  touch. 

"  You  're  lookin'  at  my  gown,"  she 
said,  "and  p'r'aps  wonderin'  that  I  trou- 
ble to  dress  up  when  there  's  not  a  soul 
to  know  if  I  'm  wearin'  calico  or  rags. 
'Ceptin',"  she  added,  with  a  gracious 
little  bow,  "  when  I  have  distinguished 
comp'ny  like  you,  my  dear." 

I  tried  to  look  innocent  of  such  an 
inquisitive  breach  of  etiquette,  but  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand  my  hostess  continued 
in  her  own  train  of  thought. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  the  reason  is  that 
Jack  liked  it.  You  know  about  Jack, 
don't  you  ? " 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

She  peered  wistfully  into  my  face, 
and  I  saw  that  the  bright  dark  eyes  had 
suddenly  filled  with  tears. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  and  tried  to  con- 
vey by  look  and  voice  the  sympathy  I 
felt.  "He  was  your  little  dog,  was  n't 
he?" 

"  Yes,  he  was  my  little  dog,  — just 
plain  black-and-tan ;  but  he  had  a  pure 
white  soul.  You  see,"  she  added,  "  he 
always  seemed  like  a  person  to  me.  Well, 
every  afternoon  about  this  time  Jack 
would  start  off  to  the  village  for  the 
mail,  with  his  little  covered  basket,  and 
he'd  come  trottin'  home  swingin'  it 
between  his  teeth,  and  I  'd  be  here  at 
the  winder  watchin'  for  him.  That 's 
why  I  was  settin'  here  yesterday ;  that 's 
why  I  'm  a-settin'  here  to-day,  and  every 
day;  for  it  seems  as  though  I  could  see 
him  come  patterin'  up  the  road,  openin' 
144 


I    FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

the  gate  for  himself,  then  come  wrig- 
glin'  up  the  path  an'  straight  inter  my 
arms,  for  I  was  always  there  to  meet 
him." 

"  Oh,"  I  cried,  distressed  at  what 
seemed  to  me  such  an  aggravation  of 
grief,  "you  must  n't, — you  must  do  any- 
thing but  that.  Go  out  at  this  time.  Go 
to  some  other  part  of  the  house;  but 
don't  sit  watching  here,  —  it 's  morbid." 

The  old  lady  surveyed  me  proudly 
when  I  had  finished  my  little  outburst. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  with  great  dig- 
nity, "  there  's  nothin'  morbid  in  accept- 
in'  one's  sorrows,  and  I  'want  to  grieve 
for  Jacky,  —  it's  due  him." 

"  Yes,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  for  she  realized  that  despite  my 
clumsy  criticism  I  really  was  sympa- 
thetic, "Jack  loved  this  dress,  and  he 
always  insisted  on  my  puttin'  it  on  every 


ON    THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

afternoon.  Sometimes,  after  the  dinner 
dishes  was  cleared  away,  and  Jack  an'  I  'd 
had  our  little  naps,  I  'd  think,  '  Guess 
I  'm  too  tired  to  change  to-day,'  and 
I'd  start  downstairs  jest  as  I  was.  But 
Jacky,  he  'd  tug  at  my  skirt,  then  run 
to  the  cluzet  and  tug  at  this  dress,  and 
nothin'  for  it  but  I  must  put  it  on,  and 
my  shade  hat,  too.  Then,"  she  added, 
with  apparent  irrelevance,  "  we  'd  gen- 
erally go  for  a  walk  in  the  lane,  and 
set  out  a  while  under  the  trees." 

At  this  point  my  skeptical  mind  may 
have  suspected  that  Jacky's  eagerness  was 
due  to  an  interest  in  the  prospective 
walk  rather  than  to  a  special  partiality 
for  the  black  gown.  But  I  had  learned 
my  lesson,  and  kept  silent. 

"Yes,"  the  faithful  soul  continued, 
"  he  loved  that  dress.  He  chose  it  him- 
self, you  know.  Yes,  my  dear.  One  day 
146 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

I  said  to  him, '  Jack,  I  've  saved  up  money 
to  buy  me  a  gown.  The  good  Lord  knows 
I  need  it  enough.'  He  was  real  pleased, 
wagged  his  tail  and  barked, --Jacky,  I 
mean.  'You  're  sure  I  've  a  right  to  spend 
this  money  on  myself,'  I  says, —  'needn't 
send  it  to  the  heathen,  or  sech  like  ? '  He 
nodded  his  head,  and  sneezed  three  times, 
the  way  he  always  does  —  did,  I  mean," 
—  she  corrected  herself  with  a  little 
gulp,  —  "  when  he  agreed  with  me." 

"  So  you  took  him  with  you  to  help 
buy  it  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  we  set  right  out  together, 
him  and  me,  for  the  store.  And  I  told 
the  girl  to  lay  out  all  the  dress  stuffs 
she  had  on  the  counter.  There  was  all 
shades  and  styles.  Jacky  set  up  on  the 
stool  next  me,  and  studied  'em  all  real 
close.  '  You  know  I  don't  think  colors 
are  becomin'  to  me,  Jack,'  I  says.  'But, 
•47 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

you  choose  what  you  like.'  An'  he  jest 
nosed  round  among  'em  all  until  he 
pulled  out  this  black.  The  girl  —  Sally 
West,  it  was  —  she  laffed  real  hearty. 
'  Guess  we  have  n't  nothin'  much  to  say 
about  it,'  she  says ;  '  an'  he  *s  chosen 
the  most  expensive  of  the  lot,  forty-nine 
cents  a  yard,'  she  says.  I  opened  my 
purse  with  some  pride.  '  Jacky  always 
has  good  taste,'  I  says." 

Cynthia  paused  to  permit  my  appre- 
ciating in  full  Jack's  powers  of  discrim- 
ination. 

At  that  moment  I  happened  to  look  out 
of  the  window,  and  saw  the  old  man 
still  flourishing  his  spade  rather  aim- 
lessly among  the  flower-beds. 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid,"  I  asked  with 
anxiety,  "  that  he  may  do  some  damage 
there?"  For  I  pictured  the  spade  de- 
scending upon  a  particularly  blithe  tulip, 
148 


I   FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

and  nipping  it  ruthlessly  from  its  swaying 
stem. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  his  wife  answered 
calmly,  and  I  saw  that  the  situation  was 
too  familiar  to  attract  her  attention. 
"  He  could  n't  do  any  harm,  —  he  has  n't 
got  the  spunk.  He  was  jest  born  help- 
less, I  guess." 

She  dismissed  the  subject  as  one  de- 
serving no  further  notice,  and  I  saw  that 
sympathy  or  interest  on  my  part  would 
be  inopportune. 

"  Then  there  was  Herbert,"  she  con- 
tinued a  little  later,  having  observed  that 
I  was  at  least  an  attentive  listener. 
"  You  've  heard  of  my  Herbert,  per- 
haps?" 

"Your son,"  I  suggested,  at  the  same 
time  wondering  what  appropriate  com- 
ment could  be  made.  But  I  was  spared 

the  necessity. 

149 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  My  dear,  affectionate  son,"  she  an- 
swered, with  tender  reminiscence,  —  "  al- 
ways lovin'  and  real  fond  of  his  mother, 
but  jest  nat'rally  troublesome." 

I  offered  some  limp  remark  anent  the 
difficulties  of  bringing  up  children,  but 
Cynthia  was  pursuing  her  own  line  of 
thought. 

"  You  see,  dear,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  quivering  sigh,  "  that  is  where 
Jack  come  in.  He  knew  jest  how  I  felt 
about  it  all.  After  Herbert  went  away, 
he  was  on  the  lookout  for  letters  same 
as  I  was.  When  one  come  he  'd  bring 
it  to  me,  waggin'  his  tail  and  wrigglin' 
his  whole  little  body.  Then  when  mail 
after  mail  come  an'  no  letter,  he  'd  be 
disappointed  jest  like  me,  but  he  'd  never 
give  way  to  his  feelin's.  He  'd  jest  jump 
inter  my  lap  an'  try  to  lick  my  face,  an' 
I  'd  say,  '  Jacky,  boy,  I  Ve  got  you  any- 
,150 


I   FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

way,'  an' we'd  set  there  together  a-rock- 
in'  an'  rockin'.  Then  I  'd  fall  to  tellin' 
him  things  about  Herbert  that  I  couldn't 
say  to  most  folks.  What  he  was  like 
when  he  was  a  little  feller  before  he 
had  his  curls  cut  off,  the  first  things 
he  said,  an'  how  he  used  to  say  he  was 
goin'  to  be  a  carpenter  when  he  grew 
up,  an'  build  a  house  jest  for  mother 
an'  him.  He  an'  father  never  set  much 
store  by  each  other,"  she  explained 
naively,  "  an'  Jack  understood  all  that. 
Then  there  were  the  photos  in  the 
album.  Jack  jest  loved  them.  We  'd  get 
it  out  every  Sunday  afternoon  an'  set 
lookin'  them  over.  Jack  agreed  with 
me  that  Herbert  had  n't  changed  much 
since  he  was  a  little  boy,  'cept,  perhaps, 
to  grow  handsomer.  Other  folks  did  n't 
seem  to  think  so;  they  thought  he  'd 
changed  for  the  worse." 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

I  caught  my  cue.  "  Could  n't  you 
pretend  I  was  Jacky,  just  for  this  once," 
I  asked  eagerly,  "  and  show  me  the  pic- 
tures?" 

"  If  you  like,  dear,"  she  answered. 

I  brought  the  plush  album  from  the 
centre  table,  and  together  we  studied 
the  entire  series.  Herbert  in  toothless 
infancy;  Herbert  in  the  days  of  large 
and  unbecoming  plaids;  Herbert  with 
curls  and  without,  —  the  latter  suggest- 
ing the  shorn  lamb  prepared  for  the 
sacrifice ;  Herbert  in  his  "  first  suit  with 
pants,"  evidently  wrought  by  a  mother's 
fond  but  unaccustomed  hand.  He  was 
a  mild,  unexciting  looking  little  boy, 
and  I  found  it  not  impossible  to  make 
sympathetic  comments. 

Herbert  grown  to  man's  estate  pre- 
sented a  more  difficult  problem,  but 
remembering  Jack's  opinion,  which  had 
152 


I   FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

been  considered  so  much  more  valuable 
than  that  of  "  other  folks,"  I  admired 
unblushingly  the  flowing  mustache  and 
the  bear's  grease  curls.  I  even  accepted 
the  gaudy  checked  suit  and  the  spacious 
shirt-front  as  appropriate  adjuncts  to  a 
person  of  Herbert's  evident  social  im- 
portance. 

"  That  was  three  years  ago,  the  last 
time  we  heard  from  him,"  his  mother 
said  wistfully,  as  she  closed  the  album. 
"That's  the  last  picture  he  sent  us." 

"You  couldn't  have  a  better  one  to 
remember  him  by,"  I  ventured. 

"  No,  dear,  I  suppose  not.  So  Jack 
thought.  He  liked  it  the  best  of  all. 
Then,  when  no  letters  come,  we  used 
to  imagine  the  kind  of  things  he  was 
probably  doin'.  He  must  be  a  pretty 
grand  person,  we  thought,  to  wear  such 
handsome  clothes." 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

She  sighed,  and  I  was  about  to  make 
further  interested  inquiry  concerning 
Herbert,  but  I  discovered  that  it  was  not 
he  who  occupied  her  thoughts. 

"  Sometimes  I  think,"  she  said  slowly, 
"  that  the  Lord  sent  him  to  me  jest  to 
be  a  comfort.  Well,  I  had  him  seven 
years,  an'  I  suppose  that 's  a  good  while 
for  any  one  comfort  to  last.  Did  you  ever 
hear,"  she  asked  suddenly,  and  quite  as 
though  I  had  been  interested  in  her  af- 
fairs for  some  time  past,  "  how  I  come 
to  have  Jack  ?  " 

But  I  had  not  been  informed  in  what 
way  the  Lord  had  chosen  to  send  this 
ministering  angel. 

"  Well,  dear,"  Cynthia  said,  and  she 
tried  in  vain  to  steady  her  voice,  "  it 
was  this  way.  I  was  comin'  home  along 
the  river  road  late  one  winter's  after- 
noon, an'  I  see  some  boys  out  on  the  ice. 
'54 


I   FIND  A   NEW   FRIEND 

There  was  a  little  group  of  'em,  an'  I 
see  they  was  all  stoopin'  over  somethin' 
small,  an'  then  drawin'  back  an'  laffin' 
an  hootin'.  I  stood  still  an'  watched 
'em,  an'  pretty  soon  I  see  it  was  a  puppy 
they  had  there,  an'  they  'd  keep  push- 
in*  him  off  inter  a  hole  there  was. 
They  'd  let  him  paddle  to  the  other 
edge  and  try  to  scramble  up  on  the  ice, 
then  they  'd  run  round  to  that  side,  an' 
shove  him  in  again. 

"  It  did  n't  take  me  long  to  get  out 
on  that  ice.  'Boys/  I  says,  'you  fish  out 
that  poor  freezin'  puppy,  an'  give  him 
to  me.' 

" '  Mother  told  us  to  drown  him,' 
says  one  of  the  boys,  grinnin'. 

" '  Mother  did  n't  tell  you  to  drown 
him  that  way,'  I  says.  '  You  give  him  to 
me!' 

"  I  guess  the  way  I  felt  must  have 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

given  me  some  commandin'  power. 
There  I  was,  a  little  weak  thing  among 
all  those  big,  cruel  boys,  but  they  got 
real  frightened  all  of  a  sudden.  One  of 
'em  says,  '  You  take  those  eyes  off  o' 
me  ! '  I  says,  '  You  give  me  that  puppy, 
an'  I  will.'  An'  he  jest  stooped  down 
and  pulled  him  out,  —  the  little  terri- 
fied, half-frozen  thing.  I  wrapped  him 
up  in  my  cape  an'  hurried  him  home." 

"  And  then  did  you  nurse  him  back 
to  life?"  I  asked,  for  I  knew  what  the 
tender  care  would  mean  to  a  woman  of 
Cynthia's  nature. 

"  Yes,  dear.  He  was  pretty  near  dead, 
but  I  dried  him  by  the  fire,  and  rolled 
him  in  hot  flannel,  an'  fed  him  with 
warm  milk  and  brandy,  jest  a  little  at 
a  time.  I'm  'temperance'  as  a  general 
rule,  but  certainly  in  its  right  place 
liquor  works  wonders.  An'  he  got  well 
156 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

jest  as  fast  as  he  knew  how.  All  his  life 
he  was  the  most  responsive  little  thing 
in  every  thin',  —  an'  so  grateful.  Seems  as 
though  he  never  forgot  he  owed  his  life 
to  me.  Sometimes  it  used  to  make  me 
cry  to  feel  those  big  eyes  of  his  watchin' 
me,  so  full  of  gratitude  and  love.  Ah, 
my  dear,  it 's  a  puzzlin'  thing  this  sayin* 
that  dumb  animals  have  n't  got  souls." 

"Perhaps  they  have,"  I  murmured; 
"  and,  at  any  rate,  it  is  a  blessing  that  you 
made  his  life  here  so  happy." 

"Yes,  dear,  it  was  a  happy  life,  but 
so  short.  I  don't  know  why  the  Lord 
saw  fit  to  take  him  away  so  soon.  One 
day  he  caught  cold,  —  I  blame  myself 
for  not  shuttin'  the  kitchen  winder,  — 
an'  once  sick  there  was  no  hope  for  him. 
I  don't  believe  he'd  ever  been  real  strong. 
I  always  felt  that  dretful  chill  the  boys 
give  him  had  sorter  spoiled  his  consti- 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

tution.  He  made  a  plucky  fight,  dear 
little  fellow,  an'  I  was  with  him  three 
days  an'  three  nights,  workin'  over  him, 
but  at  the  last  he  jest  slept  himself  off, 
an'  left  me  alone  in  the  world." 

Cynthia  turned  from  me  as  though 
forgetful  of  my  presence.  She  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  and  sat  gazing  out  of 
the  window,  apparently  looking  for  that 
little  fat,  wriggling  figure  which,  as  she 
had  described  to  me,  was  wont  to  come 
pattering  in  at  the  gate  at  just  this  time. 

I  went  to  her  and  put  my  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  "  Have  you  ever  felt,"  I 
asked  a  little  timidly,  "  that  you  could 
some  day  have  another  dog  ?  I  know  I 
could  find  you  one  that  had  been  home- 
less and  forlorn,  and  would  be  very 
thankful  to  you  for  adopting  him." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  looked 
searchingly  into  my  face. 
158 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

"  Really,  dear  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Could 
you  find  me  one  like  that?  Because,  if 
you  could  —  a  little  dog  that  needed 
me  —  I'd  be  willin'  to  have  him.  I 
think,"  she  added,  a  little  quivering 
smile  breaking  over  her  face,  "  Jack 
would  of  wished  it." 

Later,  our  conversation  drifted  to  va- 
rious topics.  I  told  Cynthia  of  my  life 
in  the  city,  and  she  was  full  of  interest 
and  appreciation. 

"  I  was  in  Ralston  once,"  she  said, — 
"jest  once,  an'  it  was  a  joy  to  me  for 
years  after.  I  recollec'  the  tall  stately 
buildin's  an'  the  handsomely  dressed 
ladies.  My  friends  took  me  to  hear 
some  music  an'  see  some  picters.  An' 
when  I  got  home  again,  I  could  n't  get 
it  all  outer  my  mind.  That  was  n't  long 
before  Herbert  was  born,  an'  sometimes 
I  'm  afraid,  my  dear,"  she  added  in  an 


ON    THE  ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

awed  whisper,  "  that  that 's  what  gave 
him  his  love  of  rovin'." 

When  I  at  last  rose  to  go,  and  prom- 
ised to  come  again  soon,  Cynthia  seemed 
to  have  developed  a  more  cheerful  mood. 
Her  last  little  feminine  touch  delighted 
me. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  as  her  eye  swept 
the  simple  summer  gown  which  I  wore, 
"  tell  me  about  next  year's  sleeves,  —  are 
they  goin'  to  be  worn  short  or  long, 
scant  or  full  ?  It 's  so  hard  to  keep  up 
with  sleeves" 

"Really  I  don't  know,"  I  answered; 
"  but  we  '11  get  a  fashion  book  and  study 
them  together.  And  I  '11  bring  my  friend 
with  me  next  time,"  I  was  suddenly 
inspired  to  suggest.  "  She  's  a  much  bet- 
ter dressmaker  than  I." 

The  mental  picture  of  Rosalind  and 
the  little  gray  lady  down  on  their  knees, 
1 60 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

cutting  paper  patterns,  especially  ap- 
pealed to  me. 

"  Don't  forget  about  the  dog,"  I  said, 
as  I  left  her.  "  He  will  come  very 
soon." 

She  nodded  brightly ;  then  stood  in  the 
doorway,  watching  me  with  an  approv- 
ing smile. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know 
somethin'  that 's  come  to  me  ?  Jack 
would  of  liked  you." 

Then  I  knew  I  had  received  the  high- 
est praise  this  faithful  mourner  could 
give.  And  I  went  away  feeling  grateful 
that  our  paths  had  chanced  to  cross.  Is 
it  chance,  I  wonder,  or  is  there  a  hid- 
den Power  which  shapes  each  apparently 
trivial  event  in  these  lives  of  ours  ? 

Certain  it  is  that  we  are  not  permitted 
often  to  choose  our  moods,  nor  to  in- 
dulge our  whilom  fancies.  As  I  saun- 
161 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

tered  home,  the  spirit  of  contemplation 
was  brooding  over  me.  I  thought  of 
my  restful  room,  of  the  cosy  window 
corner,  and  of  the  books  I  should  take 
from  the  shelves  :  Stevenson's  essays,  the 
poems  of  Arnold,  and  perhaps  De  Quin- 
cey,  to  dip  into  here  and  there. 

As  I  turned  the  last  bend  before  the 
road  slips  down  into  Peace  Vale,  I  was 
met  by  Oliver,  eager  and  buoyant. 

"I  was  just  coming  to  look  you  up," 
he  said.  "  The  others  are  waiting  in  the 
car.  We  're  going  to  take  our  supper  to 
the  top  of  Sunset  Hill." 

He  made  the  announcement  with  per- 
fect calmness,  as  though  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  Miss 
Penelope  to  be  setting  forth  in  a  motor. 
I  made  this  observation,  to  which  he 
retorted  gayly,  "  Just  wait  till  you  see 
her ! " 

162 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

I  reminded  him  of  my  deep-rooted 
dislike  of  motors  in  general,  and  of  the 
monster  in  particular.  He  responded  that 
the  precise  object  of  this  expedition  was 
to  overcome  my  dislike,  —  I  believe  he 
called  it  prejudice,  —  which  was  annoy- 
ing. 

I  suggested  that  they  might  go  with- 
out me,  and  he  answered  sadly  that  he 
and  Miss  Pennie  would  rattle  about  the 
tonneau  like  peas  in  a  pod.  It  was  not 
a  courtly  rejoinder;  but  it  pleased  me 
better  than  a  silly  compliment. 

By  that  time  we  had  arrived  at  the 
gate,  and  there  was  the  party  awaiting 
us,  not  exactly  "  booted  and  spurred, 
with  a  heavy  stride,"  as  I  used  to  pic- 
ture Paul  Revere,  but  equipped  with 
like  fitness  for  this  especial  adventure. 

Rosalind  sat  in  front,  wearing  her  long 
light  dust  coat.  The  most  becoming  of 
163 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

pale  blue  veils  enveloped  her  little  mush- 
room hat,  and  was  tied  alluringly  under 
her  chin.  In  the  tonneau  sat  Miss  Penel- 
ope, flushed  and  elated,  watching  the  per- 
formance with  the  unspoiled  eagerness  of 
a  child.  Rosalind  evidently  had  dressed 
her  for  the  occasion,  and  a  soft  gray  veil 
held  her  small  bonnet  in  place  with  evi- 
dent security. 

Orlando  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  but 
I  heard  a  muffled  voice  giving  directions 
to  Oliver  from  beneath  the  car.  Plainly  I 
was  expected  to  embark  upon  this  expe- 
dition, so,  swept  on  by  relentless  Fate,  I 
ran  upstairs  to  make  hasty  preparations. 

And  my  friends  on  the  bookshelves, 
in  their  quiet  bindings,  had  to  be  ig- 
nored. Perhaps  I  was  forgiven.  Is  it 
not  Arnold  himself  who  says,  "And  we 
forget  because  we  must,  and  not  because 
we  will "  ? 

164 


I   FIND   A   NEW   FRIEND 

It  was  a  revelation  to  me,  —  that  first 
motor  ride,  I  must  confess,  although, 
of  course,  I  would  not  admit  as  much 
to  Orlando  and  Oliver.  I  will  hot  com- 
pare it  to  the  placid,  more  simple  plea- 
sure of  driving,  for,  as  the  woman  once 
said,  "  they  are  as  different  as  two  peas.'* 
Never  would  I  exchange  Star  and  Gar- 
ter for  all  the  puffing  monsters  in  the 
mechanical  world.  But  as  a  mere  sen- 
sation, this  whirling  through  space  is 
marvelous. 

We  swept  down  one  hill  and  up  an- 
other, as  though  they  were  the  merest 
ripples  on  the  earth's  surface,  or  we,  the 
veritable  giant  of  old,  with  the  seven 
league  boots.  The  monster  sprang  at 
the  slope  like  some  great  glad  animal 
set  free  from  the  leash,  whose  vital  en- 
ergy has  been  hoarded  for  this  supreme 
attack. 

165 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

At  the  top  of  Fair  Brow  Hill  a  little 
white  village  was  clustered.  As  we  sped 
upwards,  I  pictured  ourselves  whirling 
through  the  unsuspecting  town,  scat- 
tering babies  and  animals  in  wild  con- 
fusion, —  annihilating  some,  maiming 
others.  But  just  as  we  reached  the  top, 
the  monster  quickly,  yet  gently,  lessened 
its  pace,  and  with  an  air  of  decorum  posi- 
tively human  loitered  down  that  village 
street. 

Orlando  looked  over  his  shoulder  to 
laugh  at  me,  I  know,  for  he  realized 
what  had  been  passing  in  my  mind. 
But  all  he  said  was,  "  How  goes  it,  Miss 
Pen?" 

The  little  lady  was  clutching  my 
hand  on  one  side  and  Oliver's  on  the 
other.  In  each  cheek  glowed  a  vivid 
pink  spot. 

"Wonderful!  my  dear,"  she  gasped. 
166 


I   FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

"  Until  you  take  me  in  an  airship  I 
never  expect  such  a  sensation." 

"  Did  you  ever  feel  so  much  air  in 
all  your  life  before?"  I  queried;  for  as 
we  sped  onward  once  more,  it  seemed 
that  all  the  winds  of  heaven  were  sweep- 
ing through  me,  cleansing,  purifying,  ex- 
hilarating. 

"  I  am  sure  it  has  its  moral  value,"  I 
found  myself  murmuring,  "  and  if  there 
were  some  hidden  trouble  tucked  away 
inside  it  would  just  have  to  be  driven 
out." 

And  though  there  had  been  nothing 
to  lead  up  to  this  remark,  Oliver  seemed 
to  understand. 

I  remember  thinking  that  I  now  knew 
how  the  skylark  felt,  as  we  flashed  up- 
ward, right  into  the  sky,  it  seemed,  then 
dropped  down,  down  to  earth  again. 
But  whether  I  mentioned  this  fantastic 
167 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO    ARDEN 

notion  or  not,  I  do  not  know,  for  con- 
versation seemed  of  no  importance. 

I  remember  that  from  Sunset  Hill 
we  saw  the  world  below  us  bathed  in  a 
splendor  of  purple  and  gold,  and  that  in 
the  soft  evening  sky  gentle,  pink-tipped 
clouds  were  sailing.  A  baby  moon  hung 
expectant,  waiting  to  be  kissed,  and  then 
to  be  wrapped  in  their  clinging  folds. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  I  asked  Oliver, 
as  we  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  others, 
"  that  if  each  of  us  were  drifting  on  one 
of  those  clouds  right  into  the  sunset,  it 
would  be  any  better  than  this  ? " 

"  Perhaps  we  'd  be  disappointed  if  we 
really  got  to  the  heart  of  it,"  Oliver 
answered,  "  and  besides,  it  would  be 
lonely,  each  on  a  separate  cloud." 

I  remember  that  on  the  homeward 
run  it  somehow  was  I  who  sat  in  the 
middle,  with  Miss  Penelope  and  Oliver 
168 


I   FIND   A   NEW    FRIEND 

on  either  side.  And  that  although  we 
turned  our  backs  upon  the  sunset,  there 
was  a  warm,  gentle  glow  which  had  crept 
into  our  hearts  and  found  an  abiding- 
place. 

But  what  rubbish  I  am  writing !  Peace 
Vale  must  be  working  its  magic  spell 
and  making  me  positively  sentimental. 
Or  perhaps  it  is  the  result  of  this  ro- 
mance of  Rosalind  and  Orlando  which 
is  progressing  under  my  very  eyes. 

She  is  a  heartless  flirt,  with  no  thought 
for  that  steamer  cavalier.  But  I  always 
knew  he  was  unworthy,  and  of  this 
affair  I  actually  approve. 


XI 
AN  ALTAR  AMONG  THE  HILLS 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose), 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

GRAY'S  Elegy. 

HE  mild,  almost  summer-like 
weather  continues.  One  ex- 
pects such  days  in  June  or 
July,  and  feels  quite  abused 
when  raw  chills  prevail  and  one  must 
picnic  on  soggy  ground  under  leaden 
skies.  But  balmy  days  in  May  seem  a 
gift  from  Nature  herself,  and  like  all 
things  unexpected  they  bring  a  sense 
of  special  elation.  Here  Dame  Nature 
apparently  is  stretching  wide  her  arms 
and  saying,  "  See  what  capricious  May 
170 


AN   ALTAR   AMONG   THE   HILLS 

can  do  for  you  !  June  will  do  even  bet- 
ter." 

But  she  has  no  conscience  as  to  the 
fulfillment  of  this  promise,  and  she  leaves 
one  shivering  when  led  to  expect  most. 

Yesterday  was  particularly  alluring. 
A  morning  spent  in  my  woody  nook, 
caressed  by  the  sunshine  and  wooed  by 
the  soft  west  wind,  stirred  the  Wan- 
derlust within  me.  As  I  came  reluc- 
tantly home  at  noontime,  —  for  it  is  so 
stupid  to  eat  just  because  a  certain  hour 
has  been  apportioned  for  that  ceremony, 
—  as  I  climbed  the  slope  to  Miss  Pe- 
nelope's door,  I  looked  back,  and  there 
between  the  hills  I  saw,  as  on  that  first 
evening,  the  slender  church  spire  out- 
lined against  the  blue. 

Suggestions  at  luncheon  of  motoring, 
or  even  a  half-veiled  one  from  Oliver 
that  the  ponies  needed  exercise,  held  no 
171 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

charm  for  me.  As  soon  as  I  could  leave 
gracefully  I  was  out  again,  "  over  the 
hills  and  far  away."  For  the  story  of 
the  church,  and  of  its  young  founder, 
possessed  a  pathetic  interest  in  my  mind, 
and  I  was  in  a  mood  to  know  more. 

To  find  a  church  spire  which  one 
has  seen  between  the  hills  is  much  like 
seeking  the  traditional  pot  of  gold.  It 
is  always  the  next  hill  which  conceals 
it  from  view,  and  one  pictures  the  little 
church  nestled  in  the  green  valley  at  its 
foot.  But  lo !  the  hill  rolls  away,  you 
enter  the  green  valley,  and  still  another 
hill  has  slipped  between. 

Winding  in  and  out,  threading  my 
way  along  an  enchanting  path,  I  came 
suddenly  upon  the  object  of  my  quest, — 
suddenly  and  surprisingly,  — just  when 
I  least  expected  it.  Billowy  hills  rose 
upon  all  sides,  and  nestled  among  them, 
172 


AN   ALTAR  AMONG  THE   HILLS 

with  an  English-looking  lawn  stretched 
below  it,  stood  a  most  perfect  little 
Gothic  church,  built  of  gray  stone. 

At  the  foot  of  the  slope  beneath,  the 
narrow  path  which  I  had  followed 
merged  into  a  broader  one,  curved  around 
the  hill,  and  disappeared.  The  path  was 
bordered  by  tall  beech  trees,  whose  ten- 
der green  leaves  were  just  unfolding.  I 
stood  there  gazing,  drinking  it  all  in, 
and  trying  to  assure  myself  that  I  need 
not  take  the  next  train  back  to  London. 
Surely  I  shall  find  a  black-gowned  ver- 
ger inside,  I  thought,  who  will  tell  me 
that  the  "  main  building  is  Early  Eng- 
lish, but  that  the  south  transept  and 
the  choir-  '  I  was  interrupted  in  my 
dreaming  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  on 
the  gravel  path.  I  turned.  Coming  to- 
ward me,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
beeches,  was  an  elderly  man,  tall  and 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

thin,  whose  figure  bore  a  scholarly  stoop. 
The  rector,  I  thought,  and  just  the  one 
whom  I  would  expect.  If  he  were  short 
and  fat  and  prosperous,  he  would  be  out 
of  place  here. 

He  came  to  greet  me,  hat  in  hand, 
the  sun  shining  upon  his  silvery  hair. 
As  he  smiled,  a  wonderful  radiance  came 
into  his  face  and  lighted  his  deep,  dark 
eyes,  which,  set  wide  apart  beneath  a 
broad  brow,  were  the  eyes  of  a  thinker 
and  a  dreamer. 

"You  have  come  to  see  the  church," 
he  said;  and  I  was  aware  that  had  he 
given  an  upward  inflection  to  the  ob- 
vious remark,  he  would  have  uttered  an 
unforgivable  platitude.  As  it  was,  he 
stated  a  simple  fact  with  such  enthusi- 
asm that  I  at  once  told  him  my  interest 
in  the  story  of  the  church,  and  my  de- 
sire to  see  the  beautiful  interior,  —  "that 
'74 


AN   ALTAR   AMONG  THE   HILLS 

is,  if  it  is  open,"  I  added  rather  hurriedly, 
for  I  felt  more  than  ever  like  the  inquis- 
itive American  in  a  foreign  land. 

The  rector  smiled.  "The  church  is 
always  open,"  he  said.  "That  was  one 
of  the  provisions  made  by  Vincent  Dev- 
ereux,  its  young  founder,  you  know. 
He  said  that  Protestant  churches  should 
be  open  as  the  Catholic  churches  are, 
so  that  people  might  go  in,  at  all  times, 
to  rest  and  pray.  He  said  that  if  there 
had  been  such  a  possibility  in  his  life, 
he  would  n't  have  been  so  likely  to  fol- 
low the  wild  course  he  did  to  its  bitter 
end. 

'"There  is  no  allowance  made  for  per- 
sonal feelings,'  he  used  to  say  to  me. 
'When  it's  the  proper  time  to  go  to 
church,  you  may  not  be  at  all  in  the 
proper  mood. (When  you  really  want  to 
go,  and  feel  that  it  is  just  the  influence 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

you  crave,  the  doors  are  shut  tight  in 
your  face.  They  never  should  be  shut ; 
they  always  should  be  open  to  just  such 
miserable  sinners  as  I.' 

"Poor  lad,  poor  lad!  his  awakening 
came  too  late  to  bring  much  comfort 
to  himself  or  to  others." 

The  rector  sighed  gently.  He  turned 
from  me,  and  his  eyes  sought  the  beau- 
tiful building  above  us,  with  its  slender 
spire  soaring  up  and  up,  into  the  blue, 
as  though  it  would  penetrate  the  mys- 
terious depths  beyond.  Which  of  us,  I 
wonder,  loses  his  childhood  impression 
that  heaven  lies  just  above  the  clouds  ? 

By  tacit  consent,  the  rector  and  I  evi- 
dently had  postponed  our  visit  to  the  in- 
terior of  the  church,  for  now  we  were 
sitting  on  a  bench  under  the  beech  trees, 
with  the  beautiful  scene  spread  before 
us. 

176 


AN   ALTAR   AMONG  THE   HILLS 

"What  does  it  suggest  to  you?'*  he 
asked,  turning  to  me  with  kindly  inquiry ; 
"in  miniature,  of  course,  I  mean." 

I  gazed  a  moment  longer  before  an- 
swering him.  "  Most  of  the  English  ca- 
thedrals and  their  surroundings,  merged 
into  one,  making  a  perfect  whole,"  I 
said  slowly.  "Sitting  here,  you  look  up 
as  at  Durham  and  Lincoln,  and  you  feel 
that  the  cathedral  is  set  above  the  every- 
day world.  This  path,  with  the  over- 
arching trees,  suggests  Winchester;  but 
it  reminds  me  most,  the  smooth  green 
lawn  and  the  general  style  of  the  build- 
ing with  its  wonderful  spire,  of  Salis- 
bury. How  remarkably,  expressively 
English  it  all  is!" 

The  rector  nodded  approval.     "  You 
are  right,"  he  said.  And  somehow  I  was 
more  glad  to  be  pronounced  "  right"  by 
him  than  by  any  one  I  know. 
177 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

"  It  happened  in  this  way,"  he  resumed 
meditatively  :  "  When  Vincent  broke 
down  in  health,  and  became  completely 
discouraged,  we  sent  him  abroad.  He 
took  with  him  a  young  architect,  who 
was  particularly  eager  to  study  the  Eng- 
lish cathedrals.  So  they  went  from  one 
cathedral  town  to  another,  and  gradu- 
ally Vincent,  who  apparently  had  lost  all 
interest  in  life,  became  absorbed  in  the 
study  himself.  Not  only  the  architecture 
which  he  studied  with  his  friend  in- 
terested him,  but  he  delved  into  every 
account  he  could  find  concerning  the 
history  of  the  different  buildings.  The 
lives  of  the  founders,  the  stories  of  de- 
struction and  rebuilding,  and  the  whole 
romantic  development  of  these  wonder- 
ful cathedrals  compelled  his  interest  and 
roused  him  out  of  himself.  And  the  great 
underlying  principle,  the  consciousness 
178 


AN   ALTAR  AMONG  THE   HILLS 

that  men  in  all  ages  have  been  inspired 
to  raise  altars  to  an  unseen  God,  seemed 
to  be  the  thought  upon  which  he  pon- 
dered most  deeply. 

"  Gradually  a  definite  purpose  formed 
in  his  mind.  He  had  his  friend  make 
sketches  of  the  different  details  which 
pleased  him,  an  arch  or  a  pillar  which  he 
particularly  admired,  the  window  tracery 
of  one  cathedral,  the  roof  vaulting  of 
another.  And  they  studied,  together,  the 
ancient  wood-carving  of  the  pews  and 
the  choir-stalls. 

"When  they  came  home,  after  a  year 
away,  Vincent  immediately  came  to  me 
with  his  project.  I  was  at  Dover  then,  in 
the  Theological  Seminary,  where  I  had 
taught  the  History  of  Religion  for  thirty 
years.  He  told  me  he  had  chosen  the  site 
for  his  church,  and  he  brought  me  here. 
It  was  a  lovely  afternoon  in  May,  and  I 
179 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

remember  well  our  walk  across  the  hills, 
while  the  boy  poured  out  this  desire  of  his 
heart  to  me.  We  stood  just  here,  looking 
up  at  that  green  slope,  planning  how  it 
could  be  graded  and  where  the  church 
should  stand.  And  before  we  went  home 
I  promised  him  —  unwillingly,  but  I 
could  not  refuse  what  seemed  his  earnest 
wish  —  that  I  would  fill  the  pulpit  so 
long  as  my  active  life  should  last." 

The  rector  sighed  again,  and  paused. 
I  looked  into  his  sensitive,  scholarly  face. 
I  saw  that  the  work  was  not  congenial 
to  him,  but  that  he  must  remain  faith- 
ful to  his  trust. 

"  What  a  hard  position ! "  I  exclaimed, 
and  I  hope  the  sympathy  I  felt  was  re- 
flected in  my  eyes. 

The  rector  seemed  suddenly  to  awake 
from  a  day-dream,  and  once  more  to  be 
aware  of  my  presence. 
180 


AN   ALTAR  AMONG  THE   HILLS 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing his  dark  eyes  upon  me,  "  it  is  all 
wrong,  —  all  a  great,  sad  mistake.  Vin- 
cent Devereux's  life  itself  was  a  mistake, 
a  turning  of  powerful  forces  into  useless 
channels.  And  when  he  at  last  saw  the 
light,  he  spent  his  strength  in  one  final 
misdirected  effort." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  I  asked  rather 
breathlessly,  for  his  deep  voice  shook 
with  passion. 

"  I  mean  that  if  he  were  intent  upon 
building  a  church,  he  should  have  placed 
it  in  a  city,  among  people.  But  no,  — 
he  would  have  it  just  here,  halfway  be- 
tween Dover  and  Dorset,  where  he  had 
lived,  and  where  the  people  of  both  towns 
could  come.  And  the  consequence  is, 
that  the  people  of  neither  town  come, 
and  that  it  is  too  far  from  the  city  to 
attract  many  tourists.  So  the  money  is 
181 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

being  poured  out  daily,  and  no  one  is 
benefited." 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "  think  of  the  good  he 
might  have  done  with  it !  " 

The  rector  agreed.  "  Yes,"  he  said 
sadly,  "  I  wish  we  could  have  persuaded 
him  that  better  schools  for  the  children, 
or  fuller  equipment  in  the  Seminary, 
would  have  done  more  good  for  the 
people  he  was  so  eager  to  help." 

"  And  did  he  live  to  see  the  church 
completed  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No,"  the  rector  answered,  "  that 
was  the  tragedy.  He  seemed  to  be  grow- 
ing so  much  stronger.  He  became  ab- 
solutely absorbed  in  the  work,  spend- 
ing hours  here  with  the  men,  or  at  other 
times  journeying  to  distant  cities  in 
search  of  churches  which  might  suggest 
new  possibilities  of  improvement  in  his 
own.  He  was  constantly  studying  and 
182 


AN   ALTAR   AMONG   THE    HILLS 

observing,  and  had  no  time  or  inclina- 
tion for  his  old  way  of  living.  It  took 
two  years  to  build  the  church,  and  it 
represented  the  best  architectural  talent 
in  the  country.  It  was  to  be  dedicated 
at  Christmas.  The  organ  had  proved  all 
that  was  desired.  The  choir-boys — a 
dozen  little  village  rascals  singing  like 
angels --had  been  trained;  then,  just 
a  week  before,  Vincent  was  taken  ill. 
They  say  he  stayed  too  late  one  after- 
noon, overseeing  the  work,  and  caught 
cold.  He  had  n't  the  reserve  force  to 
pull  him  through,  and  he  died  early 
Christmas  morning,  when  the  bells  were 
ringing  out  for  the  first  service." 

We  did  not  look  at  each  other  for  a 
few  moments.  I  think  there  were  tears 
in  the  rector's  eyes,  and  I  know  there 
were  in  mine,  for  my  voice  sounded 
very  husky  when  I  said  that  I  wished 

•83 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

the   right  influence  might   have  come 
earlier  into  Vincent  Devereux's  life. 

"  Yes,"  the  rector  repeated,  "  it  was 
all  a  mistake.  His  parents  began  it  by 
their  mistaken  ideas  of  duty.  They 
preached  Puritan  principles  to  him,  they 
made  his  home  gloomy  and  forlorn, 
until  they  drove  him  from  them,  and  he 
fled  to  the  city  for  diversion.  He  was  a 
natural,  full-blooded  young  animal ;  they 
turned  him  into  a  beast,  and  never  knew 
they  were  in  the  least  to  blame." 

"If  I  were  bringing  up  a  New  Eng- 
land child,"  I  observed,  "I  would  have 
an  illuminated  text  always  before  him, 
—  'Be  not  over-serious.' ' 

The  rector  smiled  appreciatively  at 
this  extreme  view.  "Have  you  had  that 
trouble,  too?"  he  asked. 

A  little  later  I  inquired  if  the  parents 
of  Vincent  Devereux  were  still  alive. 
184 


AN   ALTAR   AMONG   THE   HILLS 

"  No,"  the  rector  answered;  "  his  life 
was  a  terrible  strain  upon  them,  and  his 
death  nearly  broke  their  hearts.  They 
died  not  long  after,  but  they  left  a  fitting 
memorial  to  him,  —  the  Dorset  Library, 
containing  all  their  books." 

"Ah!  That  is  of  practical  use,"  I 
answered  eagerly. 

For  some  moments  we  sat  in  silence, 
each  thinking,  thinking.  At  last  my 
companion  suggested  that  we  should  go 
into  the  church. 

As  we  rose  he  looked  suddenly  into 
my  face.  "  I  wish  Vin  could  have  known 
you,"  he  said  impulsively;  "you  would 
have  understood  him." 

Then  I  remembered  what  Miss  Penel- 
ope had  told  me,  —  that  before  leaving 
home  Vincent  Devereux  had  been  en- 
gaged to  a  little  village  girl,  that  she 
was  sweet  and  good  but  had  no  influence 
185 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

over  him,  and  that  his  wild  ways  broke 
her  heart. 

"  She  plays  beautifully  upon  the  organ," 
Miss  Pennie  said,  "and  you  may  hear 
her  any  day  at  vespers.  To  me  it  is  the 
saddest  music  I  ever  heard." 

And  so  I  thought,  a  little  later,  when, 
having  parted  from  my  kind  friend,  I  sat 
in  the  serene,  peaceful  church.  I  rested 
my  eyes  upon  the  gray  stone  of  the  clus- 
tered pillars,  the  delicate  pointed  arches, 
and  the  exquisite  groined  roof  springing 
from  slender  vaulting  shafts.  Following 
it  with  the  eye,  I  seemed  to  be  lifted  up- 
ward into  the  spaces  of  infinity.  Then 
softly,  gently,  and  whence  coming  one 
could  not  say,  there  pealed  through  the 
silent  aisles  the  deep,  solemn  music  of 
the  organ.  Rich,  harmonious  chords  at 
first,  drifting  from  major  into  minor 
as  though  in  response  to  the  player's 
186 


AN   ALTAR  AMONG   THE   HILLS 

changing  moods,  then  gradually  blend- 
ing into  the  Funeral  March  of  Chopin, 
to  me  the  saddest  of  all  musical  compo- 
sitions. Not  depression,  not  despair  in 
any  wild,  uncontrollable  sense  is  con- 
veyed, but  sorrow,  pure  and  unmiti- 
gated, cries  out  from  every  note. 

She  does  not  rebel,  I  thought,  as  I 
listened  to  the  sweet,  sympathetic  inter- 
pretation. She  does  not  complain ;  she 
simply  grieves,  —  and  this  is  her  way  of 
pouring  out  her  heart. 

I  listened  until  the  music  changed 
again  into  the  major  key.  She  has  faith 
and  hope,  I  thought.  She  is  with  him 
while  she  plays;  and  I  felt  as  though, 
for  a  little  time,  I  too  had  followed  that 
mysterious  path  where  her  music  was 
leading. 

Somewhere  beyond  the  carved  oak 
screen  the  organist  was  sitting,  but  I 
187 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

did  not  wish  to  seek  her,  or  to  make 
tangible  the  wonderful  spirit  voice  to 
which  I  had  listened.  How  sad,  how 
inexpressibly  sad  !  I  mused,  that  a  man 
who  had  the  power  to  awake  such  love 
should  have  so  misused  it. 

As  I  climbed  down  the  grassy  slope, 
I  saw,  swinging  along  the  valley  road 
not  far  before  me,  the  stalwart  figure  of 
Oliver.  I  did  not  call  to  him,  nor  did 
he  chance  to  turn;  but  I  found  myself 
thinking,  there  is  a  man  who  has  not 
wasted  his  substance,  nor  turned  his 
powers  into  useless  channels. 

And  slowly  and  thoughtfully  I  walked 
homeward. 


XII 

THE  GOODLY   COMPANY  OF 
BOOKS 

And  there  I  sit 

Reading  old  things 
Of  knights  and  lorn  damsels 

While  the  wind  sings. 

EDWARD  FITZGERALD. 

HEN  I  saw  the  rain  splashing 
down  yesterday  morning  I 
bore  it  no  ill-will.  On  the 
contrary,  I  heard  in  its 
cheerful  song  a  distinct  invitation  to 
pass  the  morning  in  the  Dorset  Library. 
There  is  but  one  comfortable  sitting- 
room  in  our  little  cottage.  Rosalind  and 
Orlando,  I  knew,  would  establish  them- 
selves there  by  the  open  fire.  Miss  Penel- 
ope would  be  busy  with  her  household 
189 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

affairs.  Oliver  would  spend  the  morning 
in  the  barn,  tinkering  about  the  car,  or 
else  doing  some  bits  of  carpentry  around 
the  house.  He  can  amuse  himself  indefi- 
nitely in  such  ways. 

So,  directly  we  had  breakfasted,  I 
donned  my  shortest  and  oldest  skirt, 
mackintosh,  and  rubber  boots,  and  un- 
der a  big  umbrella,  stole  stealthily  from 
the  house.  There  was  nothing  half- 
hearted or  apologetic  in  the  matter  of 
rain,  I  soon  discovered.  It  had  been  at 
work  all  night,  and  was  determined  to 
continue  throughout  the  morning.  Big 
puddles  were  already  formed  in  the  val- 
ley road,  and  the  mud  oozed  deliciously 
as  I  splashed  through.  Oh,  the  joy  of 
being  dressed  as  befits  the  occasion ! 
Every  woman  knows  there  is  no  keener 
misery  than  to  be  caught  out  in  a  shower 
while  one's  feathers  uncurl  and  one's 
190 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

long  skirt  gets  drabbled  though  held 
ever  so  high.  But  when  there  is  nothing 
to  spot  nor  to  spoil,  —  no  disturbing 
element,  in  short,  —  one  feels  in  com- 
plete sympathy  with  Nature  and  her 
ways. 

As  I  trudged  along,  with  wind  and  rain 
beating  in  my  face,  I  concluded  there 
was  more  joy  to  be  found  in  weather  like 
this  than  on  a  beautiful  day.  Any  one 
can  enjoy  sunshine,  I  philosophized,  but 
one  is  much  closer  to  Nature  if  one 
loves  her  in  storm. 

The  village  road  was  almost  deserted. 
The  few  wayfarers  I  met  were  hurrying 
to  their  destination,  and  looked  annoyed 
and  ill  used.  One  old  man,  clad  in  rub- 
ber, smiled  as  we  passed.  "  Well,  you  're 
out  for  a  good  time,  are  n't  you  ? "  he 
said. 

As  I  turned  into  the  neat,  maple- 
191 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

bordered  path  before  the  library,  big 
drops  splashed  heavily  from  the  laden 
branches,  and  the  gravel  scrunched  de- 
lightfully beneath  my  feet. 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  little  stone 
building  I  pulled  off  my  rubber  boots, 
and  in  felt  slippers  entered  discreetly 
and  silently.  The  most  jealous  guardian 
of  the  peace  which  enshrouds  libraries 
could  not  have  found  fault  with  me.  Not 
that  there  was  any  one  to  disturb.  At 
one  end  of  the  ample,  well-proportioned 
room  an  open  fire  blazed  cheerily.  Be- 
fore it  stood  a  square  table,  piled  invit- 
ingly with  books  and  magazines.  But 
Dorset  seemed  unmindful  of  its  privi- 
lege; not  a  soul  was  there. 

At  the  back  of  the  room,  behind  her 
desk,  sat  the  librarian,  —  "  A  good  wo- 
man, my  dear,  but  set  in  her  ways," 
Miss  Penelope  had  told  me.  So  I  con- 
192 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

eluded  when  I  stepped  across  to  bid  her 
good-morning  in  as  cheerful  a  voice  as 
I  dared  indulge.  Evidently  I  was  disre- 
garding all  rules  sacred  to  libraries,  her 
tone  implied,  as  she  responded  in  a  sol- 
emn whisper. 

I  would  find  no  fault  with  a  librarian 
for  being  serious,  or  even  severe  if  neces- 
sary, but  must  she  invariably  be  disap- 
proving? Why  is  it  made  so  difficult  for 
one  to  take  out  a  book,  and  why  is  one 
treated  with  suspicion  for  essaying  to 
do  so? 

On  this  occasion,  however,  I  was 
planning  nothing  so  difficult.  While  the 
Dragon  regarded  me  distrustfully  my 
eyes  were  roving  in  another  direction. 
At  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  I  saw  a 
doorway  opening  into  a  small  room. 
On  one  side  of  the  entrance  stood,  upon 
a  pedestal,  the  Winged  Victory;  on  the 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

other,  the  Venus  of  Milo,  placed  there, 
it  seemed  to  me,  not  merely  for  artistic 
effect,  but  because  of  sentiment  and  as- 
sociation. I  could  understand  the  feeling, 
for  I  always  have  loved  the  Venus,  though 
Ruskin  does  call  her  "that  most  unin- 
teresting young  person." 

Through  the  archway  I  could  see  the 
walls  of  the  inner  room,  lined  with  books 
from  floor  almost  to  ceiling.  Miss  Penel- 
ope had  described  this  to  me. 

"Is  that  Vincent  Devereux's  library  ?" 
I  asked,  "  where  you  can  take  the  books 
from  the  shelves  and  read  what  you 
like?" 

"Yes,"  the  Dragon  answered,  with 
keen  reluctance.  "  But  you  must  main- 
tain perfect  order,  and  no  book  is  to  be 
marked  or  taken  from  the  room." 

I  promised  to  comply  with  the  con- 
ditions, and  hastened  away,  feeling  that 
194 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

I  was  exchanging  chill  and  disapproval 
for  warmth  and  fellowship.  For  this 
had  been  another  of  Vincent  Devereux's 
excellent  ideas :  to  encourage  a  fond- 
ness for  books  by  letting  people  linger 
among  them,  and  become  intimate  with 
them.  This  theory  his  parents  had  re- 
spected in  the  disposal  of  his  library. 

In  the  doorway  I  paused  a  moment 
to  study  the  arrangement  of  the  little 
sanctum.  With  the  exception  of  the 
space  given  to  windows  —  and  the  room 
was  well  lighted  —  the  three  walls  were 
devoted  entirely  to  books.  Quite  out 
of  reach  some  would  have  been  but  for 
the  sliding  steps  which  reached  from  top 
to  bottom  of  the  shelves,  and  which  one 
could  move  at  will.  So  often  one  sees 
bookcases  arranged  apparently  upon  the 
theory  that  familiarity  breeds  contempt. 
Of  course  the  volume  one  wants  is  in- 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

variably  upon  the  top  shelf.  It  was  a  joy 
to  find  a  library  with  not  one  book  out 
of  reach. 

Personal  feeling  and  discrimination 
had  been  used  also  in  the  grouping  of 
books.  There  were  no  arbitrary  methods. 
Bede  and  Balzac  were  not  to  be  found 
side  by  side  because  they  happened  to 
possess  alphabetical  relationship.  Here 
were  my  old  friends,  much  as  I  should 
have  placed  them  myself:  Scott  and 
Dickens  on  the  low  shelves,  where  the 
children  could  find  them  without  diffi- 
culty. Then  came  histories,  biographies, 
essays, —  a  varied  collection  of  these  last, 
—  from  Epictetus  to  Emerson. 

Novels,  old  and  new,  occupied  more 
distant  shelves.  I  climbed  up  and  looked 
them  over,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of 
touching  some  of  my  old  favorites. 
Charlotte  Bronte  leaned  confidingly 
196 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

against  Thackeray.  "Poor  dear,"  I 
found  myself  saying ;  "here,  at  least, you 
have  no  self-consciousness  with  him." 

I  drew  "Villette"  from  the  shelf  and 
scanned  the  pages,  but  soon  the  shivers 
crept  up  and  down  my  spine.  "  No, 
dear  Charlotte,"  I  thought,  "you  and 
your  mysteries  are  not  for  a  rainy  day 
like  this,  unless  one  wishes  to  encourage 
a  gray  mood."  And  I  put  "Villette" 
back  with  a  tender  hand. 

It  was  on  the  upper  shelves  the  poets 
were  ranged.  A  wise  plan,  I  thought. 
If  one  really  wishes  poetry,  one  will 
climb  for  it.  And  so  I  clambered  up 
and  established  myself  happily  among 
them. 

Keats  was  in  a  sleek  leather  binding, 
evidently  found  by  Vincent  during  his 
stay  in  England.  My  eye  fell  upon  a 

marked  passage,  — 
197 


ON   THE    ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 
What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never  known, 

The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret 
Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan. 

"  Poor  Vincent ! "  I  thought,  my  heart 
swelling  with  pity  as  I  read.  Shelley, 
too,  was  scored  in  the  margin,  — 

Alas  !  I  have  nor  hope  nor  health, 
Nor  peace  within  nor  calm  around. 

But  in  Wordsworth  I  was  glad  to  find, 
under  a  later  date,  — 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice ; 

The  confidence  of  reason  give, 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  Bondman  let  me  live ! 

Yes,  it  was  as  the  rector  had  said, — 
his  character  had  developed ;  he  found 
peace  at  last.  But  I  read  no  further,  for 
I  felt  that  I  had  intruded  upon  a  too 
intimate  revelation.  I  wondered  why 
Vincent's  parents  had  taken  no  pains  to 
198 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

remove  the  personal  marks.  Perhaps 
they  realized  at  the  end  that  he  had 
been  misunderstood,  and  hoped  that  a 
few  fellow  mortals  would  thus  learn  to 
know  him.  Also,  perhaps,  that  some 
wanderer  might  find  a  light  shed  upon 
his  own  dim  pathway. 

As  I  browsed  among  these  familiar 
books,  like  one  of  a  happy  herd  in 
pleasant  pasturage,  my  thoughts  sped 
backward  to  the  pleasant  hours  spent  in 
my  grandfather's  library. 

Grandfather  was  a  gentleman  of  the 
old  school, — refined,  courtly,  intellec- 
tual. I  can  see  him  now,  among  his 
books,  reaching  to  a  high  shelf  for  some 
volume  desired  by  his  small  grand- 
daughter. Tall  and  spare  he  was,  with 
keen  blue  eyes,  aquiline  nose,  and  soft 
white  hair  which  waved  over  a  broad 

forehead.    Grandfather  used  to  say  that 
199 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

a  man  who  could  not  find  companion- 
ship in  his  own  thoughts  was  of  small 
account.  He  had  scorn  unutterable  for 
this  modern  feverish  attempt  at  diver- 
sion which,  even  in  his  day,  had  begun 
to  attack  society. 

"  Our  happiness  comes  from  within ; 
never  forget  that,  little  girl,"  I  remem- 
ber his  saying  to  me,  one  delightful 
morning  in  his  library.  Outside,  the 
rain  was  pouring  down,  and  in  conse- 
quence a  long-desired  picnic  had  been 
postponed. 

It  was  a  blessed  privilege,  —  that  dig- 
nified companionship  of  grandfather  and 
his  books,  —  a  privilege  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. It  has  won  me  from  too  much 
worldliness,  and  inspired  me  to  climb 
now  and  again  to  the  "  student's  pen- 
sive citadel." 

Among  the  books  of  poetry  I  now 
200 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

found  a  well-worn  copy  of  Matthew 
Arnold,  grandfather's  friend  and  mine. 
So  I  perched  contentedly  upon  the  top 
step  of  the  ladder,  in  a  comfortable  cor- 
ner, where  a  pleasant  light  fell  from 
the  lattice  window  above  me.  I  turned 
the  pages,  and  soon  became  absorbed  in 
the  "  Scholar-Gipsy,"  - 

The  story  of  that  Oxford  scholar  poor, 
Of  pregnant  parts  and  quick  inventive  brain, 

Who,  tired  of  knocking  at  preferment's  door, 

One  summer  morn  forsook 
His  friends,  and  went  to  learn  the  gipsy-lore. 

Here  was  a  human  being  who  had 
solved  the  riddle  of  life  —  to  his  own 
satisfaction  at  least.  I  read  on  and  on, 
lost  in  visions  of  Vagabondia. 

Suddenly  I  was  startled  by  the  noisy 
opening  of  the  heavy  outer  door.  From 
my  point  of  vantage  I  could  see  the 
length  of  the  library,  and  into  the  now 

201 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

open  vestibule.  I  could  see  a  stooping 
figure  pulling  off  galoshes,  beside  which 
mine  looked  quite  minute.  The  figure 
turned,  and  I  saw  Oliver.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  stood  surveying  the  scene,  then, 
with  a  sacrilegious  bang,  he  shut  the 
door,  and  strode  across  the  hall.  Watch- 
ing him  approach,  I  had  a  curious  im- 
pression that  his  eyes  were  focused  upon 
me,  and  me  alone.  He  cast  not  a  glance 
at  the  indignant  Dragon ;  he  swept  by  the 
Venus  as  though  she  were  not  there,  nor 
did  he  pause  till  he  reached  the  foot  of 
my  ladder.  There  he  stood  with  a  hand 
clutching  either  side,  and  stared  up  at 
me. 

"Why  did  you  run  away  from  me?" 
he  demanded. 

"Run  away  —  from  you?"   I  queried. 

"From  whom  else?"  he  asked.  His 
voice  was  low  and  quiet,  but  his  usually 
202 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

pleasant  eyes  positively  glittered  with 
suppressed  rage. 

"If  that  is  your  mood,  I'm  glad  I 
did,"  I  laughed,  "and  that  I've  found 
such  a  safe  fortress." 

"  That 's  where  you  're  quite  mistaken, 
miss,"  he  retorted  promptly.  And  grasp- 
ing another  ladder  which  I  had  over- 
looked, he  swept  it  along  till  it  touched 
mine,  sprang  up  the  steps,  and  seated 
himself  at  the  top  on  a  level  with  me. 

"Well!"  he  said,  with  his  eyes  on 
mine.  "Here  is  the  enemy  in  the  for- 
tress. What  will  you  do  with  him  ?  You 
can't  fling  him  out." 

Then  we  both  laughed,  and  the  brief 
flash  of  anger  was  gone. 

There  are  some  persons  with  whom 
it  would  be  intolerable  to  spend  a  morn- 
ing in  a  library.  First,  of  course,  one 
thinks  of  the  person  who  does  not  love 
203 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

books,  and  to  whom  it  would  be  a  bore. 
But  worse  than  this,  I  think,  would  be 
the  clever  companion,  who  positively 
bristles  with  information.  One  has  the 
feeling  that  he  must  impart  his  know- 
ledge at  once,  or  it  will  soon  forsake  him. 
"Have  you  read  'So-and-so'?  No? 
Nor  this, — nor  even  that?  "  He  proceeds 
to  enlighten  you,  and  soon  you  feel  that 
he  is  talking  merely  to  reveal  your  igno- 
rance and  his  own  profundity.  Such  a 
person,  I  believe,  can  have  no  real  love 
of  books.  Perhaps  you  possess  a  hum- 
ble knowledge  yourself,  tucked  away  in 
brain  and  heart,  but  you  cannot  share  it 
with  him. 

Oliver,  however,  proved  a  delight- 
ful comrade  among  books.  We  did  not 
always  agree, — so  much  the  better.  He 
teased  me  for  reading  Arnold.  "What! 
that  morbid  fellow,  who  could  n't  decide 
204 


OLIVER   TEASED  ME   FOR   READING   ARNOLD 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

whether  he  loved  the  girl,  and  gave  vent 
to  his  doubts  in  seven  poems  ? " 

"  Poor  Marguerite!  "  I  laughed.  "  But 
surely  you  sympathize  with  this,"  and 
I  turned  again  to  the  "Scholar-Gipsy." 
"  Oh,  how  well  Arnold  understood  the 
difference  between  the  real  and  the  arti- 
ficial !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  scholar  ? 

.  .  .  with  powers 

Fresh,  undiverted  to  the  world  without, 
Firm  to  their  mark,  not  spent  on  other  things. 

Then  he  speaks  of  the  worldlings, 

Who  fluctuate  idly  without  term  or  scope, 

Of  whom  each  strives,  nor   knows  for  what    he 

strives, 
And  each  half  lives  a  hundred  different  lives." 

"That  may  be  true,"  Oliver  answered 
quietly ;  "  but  if  we  all  led  the  life  of 
the  Scholar-Gipsy,  what  would  become 
205 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

of  the  world  ?  Oh,  we  can  deviate  now 
and  then,  but  we've  got  to  go  back  to 
the  steady  grind,  and  take  our  place  in 
running  the  big  machine." 

His  expression  was  strong  and  pur- 
poseful, and  I  read  in  it  the  aim  of  one 
not  blind  to  the  things  of  the  spirit, 
though  entirely  awake  to  the  demands 
of  every-day  life.  He  took  the  book 
from  me. 

"  Thou  hadst  one  aim,  one  business,  one  desire," 

he  read.  "  We  are  forced  to  have  more," 
he  mused,  "  and  do  you  think  we  nec- 
essarily neglect  one  for  the  others  ?  It 
seems  to  me  that  through  diversity  we 
broaden  and  grow  —  If  you  must  read 
Arnold,"  he  broke  off  suddenly,  "  why 
not  *  Tristram  and  Iseult'  ?" 

"Why  Arnold   at   all?"   I   mocked. 
"Why  not  of  other  unhappy  lovers, — 
206 


THE  GOODLY  COMPANY  OF  BOOKS 

Lancelot  and  Elaine,  Arthur  and  Guine- 
vere?" 

"  Do  you  call  them  unhappy  ? "  Oliver 
questioned.  "At  least  they  loved,  and 
so  lived.  Theirs  was  not  the  sin  of  the 
'  unlit  lamp  and  the  ungirt  loin.'  You 
remember  Browning?" 

And  so  we  rambled  on  and  on,  through 
the  pleasant  paths  of  literature  dear  to 
us  both.  The  Dragon  withdrew  for 
luncheon.  After  an  incredibly  brief  in- 
terval, it  seemed,  she  reappeared. 

"What  a  short  dinner  time  they  give 
you !"  Oliver  sympathized. 

"  I  have  been  gone  an  hour,"  she  ob- 
served icily. 

Thus  we  knew  that  it  must  be  one 
o'clock,  and  in  some  confusion  we  de- 
serted our  fortress  and  hastened  home- 
ward. The  rain  had  ceased,  and  overhead 
the  sky  was  blue. 


XIII 
MY  SANCTUM  IS  INVADED 

Oh  the  gleesome  saunter  over  fields  and  hillsides  ! 

The  leaves  and  flowers  of  the  commonest  weeds,  the  moist 

fresh  stillness  of  the  woods, 
The  exquisite  smell  of  the  earth  at  daybreak,  and  all  through 

the  forenoon. 

WALT  WHITMAN. 

SURPRISE  awaited  me  when 
I  went  into  the  woods  next 
morning.     I    have    grown 
to  consider  that  sheltered 
nook  as  something  quite  my  own.  What 
was  my  consternation  when  upon  turning 
the  last  bend  I  suddenly  discovered  Oliver 
ensconced  beneath  my  favorite  oak  tree ! 
"Good-morrow,  fair  lady,"  he  said, 
and  he  rose  and  flourished  his  hat  pro- 
foundly as  though  it  were  plumed.   He 
208 


MY   SANCTUM   IS   INVADED 

had  the  grace  to  wave  me  to  my  seat, 
and  he  did  it  as  though  it  were  a  throne, 
but  evidently  he  had  no  intention  of 
quitting  the  scene. 

This  was  annoying.  If  I  stalked  away 
with  head  in  air  it  merely  would  be 
leaving  him  in  possession,  while  to  lin- 
ger in  his  company  was  equally  humil- 
iating. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ? "  I  inquired, 
with  some  heat. 

"  'T  is  a  pleasant  place  for  quiet  con- 
templation," he  remarked. 

"  It  is  my  particular  sanctum.  I  found 
it,"  I  insisted  quite  childishly.  "  I  do  my 
writing  here." 

"Ah,"  Oliver  responded,  "so  did  I 
when  you  interrupted  me."  And  forth- 
with he  produced  pencil  and  paper,  and 
sitting  down  upon  a  mossy  hummock 
he  fell  to  scribbling  diligently. 
209 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO   ARDEN 

What  could  I  do  but  take  my  old 
seat,  and  try  to  write  as  though  un- 
aware of  his  presence  ?  To  compose 
one's  thoughts  "  underneath  the  bough," 
and  to  jot  them  down  as  the  spirit  moves, 
seems  idyllic.  Unfortunately,  Nature 
sometimes  is  unsympathetic.  This  morn- 
ing the  sun  flickered  through  the  leaves, 
dancing  in  bright  patches  on  my  page, 
and  twist  and  turn  as  I  would  it  still 
pursued  me.  I  cast  a  covert  glance  at 
Oliver,  who  apparently  had  forgotten 
my  existence,  and  discovered  that  his 
position  was  entirely  shaded.  This  set 
me  writing  with  positive  fury,  when 
a  playful  breeze  suddenly  caught  up  a 
newly  finished  page,  tossed  it  hither 
and  thither,  and  finally  dropped  it  inky 
side  downward. 

There  was  an  ominous  silence;  then 
Oliver  solemnly  rose,  rescued  the  damp 
210 


MY   SANCTUM   IS   INVADED 

and  blotted  sheet  from  the  bushes,  and 
gravely  handed  it  to  me.  I  looked  up ; 
our  eyes  met,  and  we  both  laughed. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  and  listen  to  my 
poetry."  Then  stretching  himself  full 
length  upon  the  ground,  while  I  leaned 
back  comfortably  against  the  broad  oak, 
he  began  to  read,  - 

"  Oh,  I  know  a  little  maiden, 
And  my  heart  with  joy  is  laden 
As  I  sing  about  her  charms  divine. 
For  the  sky  is  ten  times  brighter, 
And  my  heart  is  ten  times  lighter, 
Since  I  met  —  that  little  girl  o'  mine. 

"  Oh  the  breezes  soft  and  tender 
Their  sweet  homage  to  her  render; 
The  falling  leaves  make  off'ring  at  her  shrine. 
And  I  see  all  things  a-growing, 
And  I  've  wisdom  past  all  knowing, 
Since  I  knew  —  that  little  girl  o'  mine. 

"  Life  's  a  simple  skein  to  ravel, 
And  there  's  one  straight  road  to  travel 

211 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Under  skies  where  love-stars  brightly  shine. 
The  broad  earth  is  all  the  dearer, 
And  e'en  Heaven  itself  is  nearer, 
Since  I  loved  —  that  little  girl  o'  mine." 

"  Very  pretty,"  I  remarked  conven- 
tionally, as  the  poet  turned  to  me  for 
an  opinion,  "  but  a  trifle  hackneyed, 
don't  you  think  ?  Now  you  know  that 
maiden  and  laden  have  been  forced  into 
rhyme  since  the  beginning  of  English 
poetry." 

"  Be  not  so  critical,"  Oliver  objected. 
"  Look  beneath  the  mere  form.  Don't 
you  like  the  sentiment  ? " 

"  Even  that  is  not  wholly  original/' 
I  took  refuge  in  flippancy,  for  I  felt  his 
steady  gaze  upon  me.  And  then  sud- 
denly I  was  inspired  to  ask,  "  Is  Orlando 
employing  you  to  write  his  love  poems? " 

"  Orlando  can  write  his  own  love  poems 
for  aught  I  care,"  Oliver  responded. 

212 


MY   SANCTUM   IS   INVADED 

Then  raising  himself  on  one  elbow,  he 
proceeded  to  gather  acorn  cups,  and  to 
toss  them  into  the  brook. 

It  was  a  mad  little  brook  that  was 
rushing  so  swiftly  by  us,  tumbling  over  a 
stony  bed  and  threading  its  way  among 
swaying  alder  bushes.  Near  us  a  group 
of  white  birches  stood  graceful  upon 
the  bank,  like  shy  naiads  poising  for  the 
plunge.  In  mid-stream  a  large  rock 
jutted  above  the  water.  At  this  Oliver 
was  busily  aiming  his  missiles. 

"We  '11  have  a  contest,"  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly  thrusting  a  handful  of  acorn 
cups  into  my  lap. 

"  The  one  who  hits  that  point  of  rock 
the  most  times  chooses  the  next  game. 
No,  underneath  the  water  does  n't  count." 
For,  accepting  the  challenge,  I  had  fired 
the  first  shot,  and  it  had  struck  just  be- 
neath the  water  line. 
213 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

A  girl  would  better  not  play  at  games 
with  boys  if  she  objects  to  being  beaten. 
Rosalind  and  I  made  that  discovery  long 
ago,  when  we  played  with  our  brothers. 
But  it  puts  them  in  high  good  humor, 
and  I  would  not  grudge  them  their  mild 
triumph. 

"  Oh,  there  are  some  things  you  can 
beat  us  at,  I  admit,"  Oliver  exclaimed, 
as  though  reading  my  thoughts, —  "bat- 
tles of  wit,  subtle  handling  of  situations, 
but  when  it  comes  down  to  a  plain  case 
of  steady  eye  and  firm  hand,  we  have  our 
little  victories." 

Needless  to  say  he  had  won  the 
match ;  ten  good  shots  straight  at  the 
mark,  to  my  five.  I  was  contemplating 
this  last  remark,  half  ready  to  cross 
swords  in  one  of  those  mental  battles, 
but  Oliver  jumped  up,  shaking  himself 
like  a  great  dog  tired  of  inactivity. 
214 


MY    SANCTUM  IS   INVADED 

"  It 's  my  choice,"  he  cried,  "  and  I 
choose  Halfway  Hill.  Why  should  Rosa- 
lind and  Orlando  do  all  the  reconnoi- 
tring ?" 

I  cast  a  regretful  glance  at  my  unfin- 
ished pages.  Men  never  can  take  one's 
work  seriously,  and  in  this  case  I  could 
scarcely  seek  to  make  impression  by  re- 
vealing my  subject. 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  Oliver  said,  "you 
can  do  that  any  time.  Come  ! ' 

So,  before  I  knew  it,  the  pages  were 
crumpled  into  my  pocket,  and  we  were 
swinging  along  the  trail  together.  Some- 
times our  way  lay  through  deep,  cool 
woods,  sometimes  across  open  spaces 
where  the  May  sun  beat  warmly  upon 
us.  One  last  plunge  through  a  stretch  of 
waving  pines,  and  we  gained  the  top  of 
Halfway  Hill.  There  we  rested  beneath 
the  trees  and  looked  down  upon  Peace 
215 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

Vale  nestled  among  its  enfolding  hills, 
with  the  little  church  watching  over  it. 

And  we  talked  of  many  things  which 
the  gentle  scene  suggested  concerning 
the  joys  of  life  in  the  open.  But  as  we 
stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  before 
taking  our  downward  flight,  the  note  of 
discord  was  unfortunately  struck. 

"  Mistress  Celia,"  Oliver  said  thought- 
fully, as  his  eyes  sought  the  quiet  valley, 
"do  you  think  that  this  —  that  Nature 
in  all  her  beauty  can  wholly  satisfy?" 

Of  course  I  did  not  think  so.  I  never 
have.  Sometimes  Nature  is  merely  mock- 
ing, and  intensifies  one's  need  of  human 
companionship.  But  it  is  so  like  the  arro- 
gance of  man  to  think  that  he  has  cre- 
ated that  need. 

"  It  satisfies  me  completely,"  I  re- 
torted. "  Outdoor  life  rests  me  for  my 
work ;  work  gives  me  my  excuse  for 
216 


MY   SANCTUM   IS   INVADED 

outdoor  life.  There  's  no  time  for  idle 
dreaming,"  and  I  laughed  lightly.  Did 
it  ring  quite  true,  I  wonder? 

So  as  I  apparently  had  limited  myself 
to  two  interests,  and  one  cannot  discuss 
the  beauties  of  Nature  indefinitely,  we 
talked  on  the  way  down  of  my  settle- 
ment work, —  a  solid,  most  worthy  con- 
versation, but  it  proved  very  dull. 

As  we  neared  home  we  spoke  of  Rosa- 
lind and  Orlando,  and  speculated  upon 
how  soon  that  gay  cavalier  would  be 
making  his  entry  into  Ralston. 

"And  you?"  I  found  myself  saying 
involuntarily,  "  shall  you  be  there  to  see 
the  grand  finale  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  Oliver  answered  quickly, 
"  I  shall  be  far  away  by  that  time.  I  also 
have  work  to  do,  you  know." 

Why  did  the  whole  world  suddenly 
grow  dark  for  me? 


XIV 
WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

Come,  spur  away, 

I  have  no  patience  for  a  longer  stay. 

THOMAS  RANDOLPH. 

E  lingered  three  days  at  Peace 
Vale  after  the  m  en  had  gone. 
Rosalind  parted  calmly  with 
Orlando,  for  she  knew  she 
soon  would  see  him  again.  My  part- 
ing with  Oliver  was  outwardly  quite  as 
calm. 

"A  pleasant  journey  to  you,"  I  said, 
as  gayly  as  when  first  I  sped  them  upon 
their  way. 

Oliver   took   my  hand  in  that   firm, 
friendly  grasp  of  his.   "  Here  's  hoping 
we    may   meet  again   on    the    road  to 
218 


WE   TAKE   TO   THE   OPEN    ROAD 

Arden,"  he  answered.  And  his  clear  eyes 
looked  merrily  into  mine. 

The  monster  puffed  and  snorted  re- 
belliously,  then  plunged  forward,  and 
bore  them  swiftly  away.  Whither  I  do 
not  know,  having  been  too  proud  to  ask 
Oliver,  and  too  proud  to  admit  my  ig- 
norance to  Rosalind.  Orlando  is  coming 
to  Ralston  as  soon  as  we  return,  and  I 
should  be  —  yes,  of  course,  I  am  —  glad 
in  the  Child's  happiness. 

Pride,  the  demon,  and  I  have  looked 
each  other  squarely  in  the  face  these  last 
days. 

"Had  you  not  been  so  foolish,"  I 
told  her,  "  you  would  not  have  scorned 
a  good  friend  till  he  tired  of  making 
advances,  and  turned  and  rode  away." 

"Had  I  not  been  so  strong,"  she  an- 
swered me,  "you  would  have  shown  the 
good  friend  you  liked  his  advances,  and 
219 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

he  would  have  smiled  satirically  as  he 
rode  away." 

Stern  Pride,  you  are  a  good  counselor. 
You  saved  me  from  showing  a  nicker  of 
possible  sentiment.  Spared  that  humili- 
ation, my  path  should  be  easy. 

They  were  serene  days,  our  last  at 
Peace  Vale.  Rosalind  and  I  visited  the 
church  together,  and  called  upon  the 
dear  old  rector.  We  spent  a  morning 
with  the  little  gray  lady,  surrounded  by 
a  dazzling  array  of  fashion  plates,  till  we 
solved  to  her  satisfaction  the  problem  of 
winter  styles. 

Then  came  the  leave-taking  of  Miss 
Penelope,  —  not  an  easy  matter.  But  we 
have  her  promise  that  she  will  visit  us 
both  in  Ralston  next  winter. 

"  Dearie,  you  positively  need  some 
frivolity,"  Rosalind  told  her,  "  for  you 
know  you  are  a  saint,  though  an  unag- 
220 


WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

gressive  one,  and  you  must  come  down 
towards  our  level,  just  a  little." 

"But dear  children,"  MissPennie  pro- 
tested, "  I  've  grown  so  used  to  this  simple 
manner  of  living  that  I'm  afraid  — " 

"  Simplicity  forsooth ! "  laughed  Rosa- 
lind. "  It  is  n't  arrogant  simplicity,  you 
darling,  and  you  '11  find  a  nice  warm 
little  spot  in  that  big  heart  of  yours  for 
the  vanities  of  this  world." 

So  she  promised,  and  we  promised  to 
return  to  her ;  for  wheresoever  life  leads 
me,  one  thing  I  know,  —  I  shall  come 
again  to  Peace  Vale.  Under  the  vine- 
covered  arch  Miss  Penelope  kissed  us 
good-by.  The  ponies  pranced  and  tossed 
their  heads,  then  eagerly  we  once  more 
set  forth  upon  our  unknown  way. 

Our  holiday  was  nearly  spent.  My 
plan  had  been  to  drive  that  morning  to 
Hazlemere,  where  there  was  a  famous 

221 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

little  inn,  stay  the  night,  and  then  have 
a  two  days'  journey  home  to  Ralston. 
The  day  before,  however,  Rosalind  in- 
terposed a  suggestion. 

"  Celia,"  she  said,  "you  remember 
that  the  Carruths'  big  place  is  near  Ha- 
zlemere,  and  I  promised  them  we  would 
stop  on  our  way.  They  probably  are  ex- 
pecting us  now,  and  will  be  disappointed 
if  we  don't  come." 

Madge  and  Ethel  Carruth  are  not 
favorites  of  mine,  and  their  worldly  way 
of  living  contrasts  curiously  with  that  we 
have  met  upon  the  road  to  Arden.  Still, 
if  Rosalind  had  set  her  heart  upon  this 
visit,  I  did  not  wish  to  oppose  her,  and 
Miss  Penelope  encouraged  the  plan. 
Their  mother,  of  course,  had  been  a 
school  friend. 

"A  dear  woman,  though  never  bur- 
dened with  brains,"  Miss  Pennie  re- 
222 


WE   TAKE   TO   THE   OPEN    ROAD 

marked,  "  and  how  stout  she  has  grown 
these  last  years." 

"We  will  telephone  from  the  inn," 
Rosalind  said,  "  and  find  out  if  they 
would  like  us  for  the  night." 

That,  however,  proved  unnecessary. 
When  we  entered  Hazlemere  Inn  — 
perfect  in  all  appointments,  though  lack- 
ing the  rustic  charm  of  Fernleigh  Tav- 
ern—  we  found  ensconced  in  a  velvet 
armchair  the  ample  figure  of  Mother 
Carruth. 

"  Didn't  the  dear  lady  look  just  as  if 
she  grew  there?"  Rosalind  said  after- 
wards. 

Wisely  making  no  attempt  to  rise 
from  its  depths,  she  had  stretched  out  a 
hand  to  each  of  us,  and  beamed  up  into 
our  faces  with  the  effulgence  of  a  sun- 
flower. 

When  Nature  and  personal  inclina- 
223 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

tion  are  at  variance,  the  result  is  tragic. 
I  know  of  no  woman  who  would  so  like 
to  be  queenly,  or  so  firmly  believes  that 
she  is,  as  Mrs.  Carruth.  But  Nature  has 
made  her  figure  so  rotund  that  her  short 
arms  when  outstretched  reach  scarcely 
beyond  it.  As  well  might  a  hippopota- 
mus try  to  be  gracious  as  this  dear,  dumpy 
lady,  —  and  it  is  very  sad,  for  her  heart 
is  all  graciousness,  I  know. 

"My  dear  girls,  I  was  just  motoring 
over  for  you,"  she  said,  as  one  issuing  a 
royal  summons.  "The  Ellisons  were  de- 
layed,—  do  not  arrive  until  to-morrow; 
and  Madge  and  Ethel  have  four  young 
men  to  entertain.  They  so  hope  you  will 
help  them  out." 

With  this  the  regal  manner  relaxed, 
and  she  grew  pathetically  eager.  In- 
wardly I  stiffened.  The  social  methods 
of  the  Carruths  never  have  appealed  to 
224 


WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

me.  So  long  as  one  can  amuse  them,  one 
is  in  demand,  and  Rosalind,  with  her 
charming  voice,  and  I  as  necessary  ad- 
junct would  do  in  default  of  the  lively 
Ellisons.  I  could  have  found  it  in  my 
heart  to  hesitate,  but  the  Child,  who  to 
my  surprise  had  taken  this  matter  into  her 
own  hands,  exclaimed  cordially,  "We 
shall  love  to  come,  Mrs.  Carruth.  In 
fact,  we  were  thinking  just  a  little  bit 
of  suggesting  it  ourselves,  were  n't  we, 
Celia?" 

"Rosalind,  you  are  a  hypocrite,"  I 
told  her,  when  in  the  afternoon  we  were 
driving  on  our  way.  Mrs.  Carruth  had 
preceded  us  in  the  motor  to  herald  our 
coming.  "You  are  a  hypocrite,  and  a 
most  worldly  person.  Here  for  a  fort- 
night we  have  lived  in  Arcadian  simpli- 
city, and  you  pretend  to  have  liked  it. 
Now,  at  the  first  opportunity  of  bowing 
225 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

down  to  Mammon,  you  eagerly  prostrate 
yourself." 

She  laughed  lightly,  and  her  brown 
eyes  shone  with  merriment. 

"It's  a  passing  mood,"  she  said,  "and 
I  believe  is  due  to  wearing  this  hat 
again."  For  she  wore  the  rakish,  blue- 
winged  bonnet.  "Yesterday,  you  remem- 
ber, I  had  on  that  wide-brimmed,  droopy, 
garden  hat,  and  I  was  meditative  and 
serious-minded.  Certainly  different  styles 
of  clothes  affect  one's  character,  though 
of  course  one's  personal  appearance  is 
still  more  responsible.  I  should  have  been 
a  sober  and  serious  person  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  my  turned-up  nose." 

"What  mood  do  you  expect  to  de- 
velop to-night,"  I  asked,  "when  you  sit 
at  the  Carruths'  dinner  table  in  a  shirt- 
waist frock?" 

"I  expect  nothing  so  dreadful.  Madge 
226 


WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

and  Ethel  will  lend  us  wonderful  gowns, 
and  as  one  never  thinks  so  little  about 
clothes  as  when  well  dressed,  I  shall  be 
above  petty  vanities.  When  quite  un- 
troubled on  that  point  I  'm  able  to  turn 
my  mind  to  higher  things." 

"That  does  n't  seem  the  case  with  the 
Carruths,  does  it?"  I  said. 

And  as  the  ponies  pattered  cheerily 
along,  I  fell  to  musing  upon  our  host- 
esses. 

Madge  is  one  of  those  lightsome  crea- 
tures, whose  conversation  seems  to  flow 
from  the  top  of  her  mind.  I  believe  that 
she  has  a  mind  which  she  uses  on  occa- 
sions, but  she  talks  to  spare  herself  the 
trouble  of  thinking.  She  is  fond  of  mak- 
ing definite  assertions,  and  of  attack- 
ing one's  theories  of  life.  I  used  to  take 
her  seriously,  until  I  discovered  that  the 

statement  which  I  was  considering  with 
227 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

all  care  was  forgotten  by  her  as  soon  as 
uttered.  It  seemed  that  her  ideas  simply 
spilled  out  of  her  brain  without  previous 
process  of  formation. 

Ethel,  prettier  though  less  definite,  is 
a  daintily  dressed  person.  Her  clothes, 
from  a  modest  glint  of  mauve  stocking 
to  an  invariably  gay  flowered  hat,  pro- 
claim "Paris"  so  insistently  that  one 
wearies  of  the  reiteration. 

"  If  Madge  and  Ethel  were  wrecked 
on  a  desert  island,"  I  found  myself  ques- 
tioning, "  I  wonder  what  would  become 
of  them  ?  They  seem  to  have  no  life 
apart  from  their  surroundings." 

So  in  our  usual  way  of  exchanging 
ideas  —  some  fantastic,  some  serious  — 
the  Child  and  I  passed  the  afternoon 
away.  Nor  did  we  touch  upon  the  sub- 
jects lying  nearest  our  hearts.  Rosalind 
knows  that  when  ready  to  give  me  her 
228 


WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

confidence,  she  will  find  me  ready  to 
receive  it.  As  for  me,  never  will  there 
be  a  confidence  to  give.  Fate  has  marked 
me  for  the  lonely  life,  —  not  an  em- 
bittered one,  that  I  stoutly  declare. 

The  shadows  were  growing  long  in  the 
woods  when  we  turned  into  a  smooth 
white  avenue  stretching  at  the  foot  of 
great  pine  trees.  Upon  one  side  swept  a 
wide  lawn,  giving  an  impression  of  re- 
cent laborious  cultivation,  while  above  it 
lay  terrace  upon  terrace  hewn  from  the 
natural  rock.  Over  all  loomed  the  Car- 
ruth  mansion,  large,  white,  aggressive. 

If  I  were  building  a  house,  I  should 
try  to  harmonize  with  my  surroundings. 
This  superb  structure,  with  its  great 
pillars  and  stone  copings,  rears  up  as 
though  announcing  to  the  world,  "  Here 

I  am.   It 's  a  condescension  on  my  part 
229 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

to  bury  myself  in  the  country,  but  I  'm 
here;  so  admire  me." 

Star  and  Garter  —  born  aristocrats  that 
they  are — felt  no  shyness  in  approach- 
ing this,  to  me,  terrifying  abode.  Ap- 
parently they  argued  that  a  house  of 
such  magnificence  must  possess  a  stable 
worth  considering.  They  hastened  their 
pace  on  the  winding  upward  stretch, 
and  soon  brought  us  to  the  great  stone 
steps. 

"  You  would  n't  be  so  self-assured,"  I 
laughed,  "  if  you  knew  what  absurd  lit- 
tle pygmies  you  look." 

Of  course  I  was  saying  it  to  keep  up 
my  own  courage,  for  with  an  apparently 
endless  flight  of  white  steps  towering 
above  us  I  felt  like  an  unimportant  atom. 

Then  the  wide  door  was  flung  open, 
and  Madge  and  Ethel  came  running 
down  to  meet  us,  so  sweet,  and  bright, 
230 


WE  TAKE  TO  THE  OPEN  ROAD 

and  cordial,  that  I  regretted  any  un- 
friendly thought  I  had  harbored.  Sud- 
denly, however,  my  heart  gave  a  queer 
thump,  and  if  it  is  possible  to  turn  pale 
under  a  fortnight's  tan  I  must  have 
done  so.  For  in  the  doorway  above  us 
stood  the  familiar  figures  of  Orlando 
and  Oliver. 

I    looked  at  Rosalind,  and  she    ap- 
peared quite  unconcerned. 


XV 

WE    BOW   TO     MAMMON   AND 
PASS  ON 

As  the  stars  come  out,  and  the  night- wind 

Brings  up  the  stream 

Murmurs  and  scents  of  the  infinite  sea. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 

OSALIND  was  right  in  assum- 
ing that  Madge  and  Ethel 
would  lend  us  gowns  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion. 
Her  slim  figure  was  becomingly  clad  in  a 
clinging  white  crepe  de  chine  of  Ethel's, 
which  fitted  as  though  it  were  her  own. 
I  was  almost  as  well  suited  in  a  Paris 
gown  of  Madge's,  —  a  little  large,  to  be 
sure,  but  judicious  loopings  and  pin- 
nings  by  a  French  maid's  clever  fingers 
wrought  a  marvelous  result. 
232 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

At  seven  o'clock  I  stood  before  the 
mirror,  surveying  my  reflection  as  though 
it  were  that  of  a  stranger.  The  gown 
was  of  pale  rose  satin,  —  a  changing, 
elusive  tint, —  and  cut  in  a  more  daring 
style  than  I  am  wont  to  wear.  "  Behold 
the  sober  Puritan  transformed  !  "  I  mur- 
mured to  myself.  And  the  thought  gave 
me  courage. 

It  would  not  have  been  easy  to  meet 
Oliver  —  who  again  had  run  away  from 
me,  and  whom  again  I  had  pursued, 
for  so  in  my  self-consciousness  I  viewed 
it  —  in  my  own  simple  garb.  To  mas- 
querade, however,  —  to  appear  quite  as 
another  being,  even  with  traits  of  the 
flighty  Madge  borrowed  with  the  gown, 
if  necessary, — was  to  be  clad  in  armor, 
with  rapier  of  burnished  steel. 

"Just  for  this  evening,"  I  told  myself, 
for  an  accusing  conscience  disapproved 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

this  chameleon-like  conduct.   "Then  I 
promise  to  be  puritanical  all  my  days." 

So  I  held  my  head  high  as  I  descended 
the  broad  staircase,  and  entered  the 
great  drawing-room  with  its  blaze  of 
lights.  They  were  all  assembled;  in- 
numerable persons  they  seemed  to  my 
excited  imagination.  Rosalind  and  Or- 
lando, quite  oblivious  of  the  world  at 
large,  were  seated  on  an  ottoman  in  a 
far  corner.  The  Child  looked  very  lovely 
in  her  trailing  white  gown, —  "  The  lily 
maid  of  Astolat,"  I  found  myself  think- 
ing. I  did  not  wonder  that  Orlando 
should  want  her  all  to  himself,  but  I 
questioned  both  their  wisdom  and  their 
manners. 

Oliver  stood  leaning  in  his  favorite  at- 
titude by  the  fireplace,  talking  to  Ethel, 
who  sat  with  hands  demurely  clasped, 
gazing  up  at  him  with  innocent  eyes. 
234 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

"  Does  he  realize  it  is  all  a  pose  ?  "  I 
wondered  rebelliously.  Then  remem- 
bering my  own  anomalous  position  I 
blushed  hotly.  After  all,  sincere  persons 
would  better  never  assume  a  role.  They 
see  through  their  own  disguise,  even  if 
they  make  others  their  dupes. 

Oliver  gave  a  visible  start  as  I  came  in, 

—  whether  of  surprise  or  displeasure  I 
was  not  sure,  but  I  strongly  suspected 
the  latter.  The  other  two  young  men 

—  innocuous    persons    they    seemed  — 
were    talking   with    Mrs.    Carruth   and 
Madge.     How  conventional,  decorous, 
and  supremely  dull  it  all  looked ! 

Mr.  Brandon,  the  short,  stout  stranger, 
made  some  fatuous  remark  concerning 
my  appearance  as  I  joined  their  group  ; 
while  Mr.  Raleigh,  the  tall,  thin  one, 
honored  me  with  a  glance  evidently 
meant  to  convey  unutterable  things.  He 
235 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

it  was  who  took  me  out  to  dinner,  and 
with  him  I  proceeded  to  amuse  my- 
self, although — or  perhaps,  because  — 
Oliver  sat  upon  my  other  side. 

When,  in  spite  of  all  you  have  told 
yourself  to  the  contrary,  you  know  that 
one  person  means  more  to  you  than  all 
others  in  the  world;  when  you  realize 
that  the  person  feels  for  you  only  a 
passing  interest;  moreover,  when  you 
are  dressed  in  a  Paris  gown  not  your 
own,  —  you  will  turn  from  that  person 
to  the  one  upon  your  other  side,  though 
this  other  be  carved  of  stone.  Such  was 
Mr.  Raleigh  so  far  as  mental  activity  is 
concerned.  Perhaps,  however,  putty  de- 
scribes his  consistency  more  correctly, 
for  he  was  distinctly  plastic.  In  my  Pa- 
risian mood,  with  Oliver  trying  to  inter- 
pose himself  on  the  other  side,  that  was 
all  I  needed. 

236 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

Mr.  Raleigh,  I  am  sure,  is  a  person 
who  never  had  an  adventure.  I  mean 
an  Arcadian  adventure  such  as  this  of 
Rosalind's  and  mine.  The  unusual  never 
could  happen  to  him,  because  he  is  too 
conventional  to  attract  it.  So  it  was  to 
this  apparently  inappropriate  being  I  dis- 
coursed unreservedly  on  the  joys  of  Vag- 
abondia. 

I  told  him  that  over-civilization  was 
the  modern  curse ;  that  we  all  needed  to 
turn  gypsy  now  and  then  and  explore 
the  wilderness,  and  that  he  would  better 
rest  his  overtaxed  brain  by  trying  it. 
Poor  soul,  whose  modicum  of  mind 
never,  I  am  sure,  has  been  taxed  with  a 
consideration  more  serious  than  that  of 
keeping  the  money  gathered  by  cleverer 
hands  than  his.  He  didn't  quite  know 
if  I  was  quizzing  him,  so  kept  asking 
me,  when  of  course  I  told  him  I  was 
237 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

not,  and  that  I  always  knew  those  dark 
shadows  under  the  eyes  came  from 
overstrained  mental  action.  Poor  dear! 
His  brain  was  bumping  and  thumping 
at  that  moment,  trying  to  keep  pace 
with  my  nonsense.  Of  course  if  I  had 
been  dowdy  and  gypsy-like  in  appear- 
ance he  would  n't  have  cared,  but  in 
that  Paris  gown  I  did  pique  his  curiosity 
if  nothing  more.  I  need  not  reproach 
myself.  It  was  excellent  advice  I  gave 
him;  but  how  I  should  some  day  like  to 
meet  his  immaculate  patent  leathers  con- 
scientiously plodding  along  the  road  to 
Arden ! 

Whether  he  grew  weary  of  the  badi- 
nage or  not,  I  did.  Suddenly,  the  ab- 
surdity, the  futility  of  it  all  flashed  upon 
me,  overwhelmed  me  so  completely 
that  I  stopped  short,  and  I  grieve  to  say 
it,  I  believe  my  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
238 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

The  patient  listener,  finding  me  suddenly 
dumb,  turned  to  the  ever  ready  Madge 
upon  his  left.  That  would  have  been 
the  moment  when  I  could  not  have  ig- 
nored Oliver  had  he  spoken  to  me,  but 
luckily  he  was  absorbed  in  discussing 
with  his  hostess  the  most  delectable 
method  of  cooking  oysters.  Across  the 
table,  Orlando  and  Rosalind  were  still 
talking, —  not  excitedly,  but  in  quiet 
contentment.  Never  in  my  life  have  I 
felt  more  lonely. 

At  that  moment,  in  discreet  silence,  to 
avoid  general  disturbance,  the  impassive 
butler  slipped  into  my  hand  a  yellow  en- 
velope. Very  quietly  I  opened  it,  and 
read  the  message  it  contained.  Rosa- 
lind's father  was  dangerously  ill,  and  we 
were  summoned  home  at  once.  My 
mind  rapidly  embraced  the  situation. 
The  evening  train  had  gone;  the  next 
239 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

would  not  leave  until  the  following 
morning.  We  were  seventy  miles  from 
Ralston,  and  to  start  with  the  ponies  at 
that  time  of  night  would  be  a  wild  and 
useless  expedition. 

Then  I  heard  a  calm  voice  beside  me, 
"Tell  me  the  trouble."  I  turned  and 
looked  into  Oliver's  clear  eyes,  as  earnest 
now  and  full  of  concern  as  when  first  I 
met  them. 

Unquestioningly  I  slipped  the  tele- 
gram into  his  hands.  He  read  it  at  a 
glance.  "  There  is  just  one  thing  to 
do,"  he  said.  "  Orlando  and  I  will  take 
you  at  once  in  the  motor." 

"  Impossible,"  I  answered.  "  Break 
up  this  house  party  where,  as  it  is,  I  feel 
an  intruder,  —  drag  you  and  Orlando 
away  ? " 

"  You  forget,"  he  suggested,  "  that 
we  can  leave  you  at  home  and  be  back 
240 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

before  morning.  The  monster  and  the 
ponies  travel  at  a  different  pace,  you  re- 
member." And  a  smile  of  remembrance 
flashed  in  his  eyes. 

I  hesitated,  pondering  the  situation, 
but  Oliver  continued  decisively,  "  You 
take  Rosalind  upstairs  and  tell  her  about 
it  while  you  are  making  ready  as  quickly 
as  you  can."  He  swept  a  glance  over  my 
borrowed  finery,  and  this  time  I  knew 
that  the  feeling  aroused  was  disapproval. 
He  did  not  dwell  on  the  point,  however. 

"  I  will  explain  it  to  our  hostess,"  he 
concluded,  "tell  Orlando,  then  help  him 
get  the  car  ready.  We  '11  meet  you  at 
the  door  as  soon  as  possible." 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Carruth  was 
preparing  gradually  to  rise  from  her  chair. 
Oliver,  jumping  quickly  to  help  her,  at 
the  same  time  explained  the  matter  into 

her  sympathetic,  motherly  ear. 
241 


ON   THE   ROAD  TO  ARDEN 

While  Rosalind  and  I  exchanged 
borrowed  plumes  for  our  own  traveling 
garb,  we  talked  as  rapidly  as  we  dressed. 
The  tears  poured  down  the  Child's  soft 
cheeks. 

"  Oh,  Celia,"  she  cried,  "  do  you 
know  what  is  the  hardest  part  to  bear  ? 
That  if  anything  should  happen  to 
father,  he  '11  never  know  Orlando.  And 
he  would  love  him, —  and  he  never  did 
like  any  of  the  others,"  she  ended,  with 
a  little  gulp. 

"  He  never  even  saw  the  steamer  per- 
son," I  said,  trying  to  turn  her  thoughts 
from  present  conditions. 

Rosalind  was  sitting  down  pulling 
off  her  slippers,  but  suddenly,  hurried 
as  we  were,  she  jumped  up,  came  to  me, 
and  put  her  hands  on  my  shoulders.  She 
looked  into  my  eyes,  and  a  smile  like 
swift  sunshine  after  storm  flashed  across 
242 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

her  tear-stained  face.  "  Dear  old  Celia," 
she  said  softly,  "don't  you  know — have 
n't  you  guessed  —  that  the  steamer  per- 
son and  Orlando  are  the  same  ? " 

Then  she  sat  down,  drew  off  her  silk 
stockings,  put  on  her  black  ones,  and 
laced  her  shoes,  all  before  I  had  gained 
sufficient  breath  to  make  reply. 

While  we  dressed  she  told  me  the 
story  quickly.  She  had  met  him,  as  I 
knew,  in  Europe.  On  board  ship  he 
had  made  ardent  love  to  her,  but  had  n't 
exactly  asked  her  to  marry  him,  she 
said,  because  of  another  girl  he  was  n't 
quite  sure  about. 

"You  mean  that  he  was  engaged  to 
some  one  else  ? "  I  asked  severely. 

"  He  did  n't  know,"  Rosalind  an- 
swered naively.  "  He  did  n't  think  so. 
He  had  tried  to  break  it  off  before  he 
left  home.  It  had  been  a  family  affair 
243 


ON   THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

anyway.  Their  parents  had  brought  it 
about,  and  would  n't  hear  of  it  being 
broken,  though  Orlando  wanted  to  and 
so  did  the  girl.  At  least  he  thought  she 
did.  So  he  said  they  'd  just  let  it  stand 
over  until  he  came  home.  You  see,  he 
never  thought  of  meeting  me  and  fall- 
ing in  love  so  very  quickly.  But  he  told 
me  the  story,  and  said  he  expected  to  be 
able  to  arrange  it  as  soon  as  he  got  home. 
And  then  he  didn't  come,  you  know, 
and  did  n't  come,  and  sometimes  I  de- 
cided he  had  forgotten  all  about  me,  and 
was  a  horrid  flirt,  and  never  had  really 
cared.  And  at  other  times  I  thought  that 
dreadful  things  had  happened,  and  that 
he  was  lying  dead  under  his  motor  car. 
Of  course  I  thought  of  everything  but 
the  right  reason.  And  oh,  I  couldn't 
tell  you,  Celia,  for  I  had  promised  not 
to  say  anything  about  the  other  girl. 
244 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

And  then  you  know  we  went  away- — 
and  we  met  them.  Suddenly,  when  I 
least  expected  it,  meeting  him  face  to 
face,  of  course  my  reserve  broke  down, 
and  I  showed  him,  just  like  a  baby,  how 
I  felt.  Then  while  you  and  Oliver  were 
fixing  the  ponies  —  how  blessedly  long 
you  were!  —  he  told  me  all  about  it. 
How  the  girl  had  seemed  to  care  when 
he  got  back,  and  his  family  would  n't  let 
him  break  it  off,  — said  it  was  dishonor- 
able,—  and  so  it  dragged  on  and  on.  And 
he  didn't  know  what  to  write,  and  finally 
he  got  sick  with  worry,  and  almost  went 
out  of  his  mind.  Then,  suddenly,  a  man 
the  girl  had  been  in  love  with  all  along 
—  only  he  had  n't  cared  for  her  —  turned 
up,  asked  her  to  marry  him,  and  she 
immediately  announced  her  engagement. 
You  see,  the  horrid  little  chit  never  had 
cared  for  Orlando,  but  just  wouldn't  let 


ON   THE   ROAD   TO  ARDEN 

him  go  till  she  got  what  she  really 
wanted.  And  so  the  poor  boy  came  on 
the  first  minute  he  could,  and  Oliver 
with  him,  who  had  been  his  loyal  friend 
all  through/' 

My  silly  heart  gave  a  bigger  jump  at 
this  word  of  praise  than  it  had  done 
throughout  the  entire  breathless  recital. 

"But  Rosalind,"  I  said,  "why  did  n't 
you  tell  me  then  ?  Surely,  you  knew — " 

The  Child  turned  to  me  with  that 
flashing  smile  of  hers.  "  You  dear,  dis- 
creet chaperon,"  she  said  softly,  "didn't 
I  know  that  you  would  feel  bound  to 
disapprove  of  the  steamer  person?  I 
knew  the  only  way  was  to  make  it  your 
own  personally  conducted  affair  and  let 
you  grow  to  like  him  in  your  own  way. 
So  Orlando  and  I  planned  it  out  then 
and  there.  How  they  were  to  run  down 
to  Ralston,  back  to  Fernleigh  Tavern, 
246 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

then  to  Peace  Vale,  and  ending  up  here, 
for  they  had  been  asked  here  in  the  first 
place,  you  see." 

I  was  struck  fairly  dumb.  Even  this 
chance  meeting  at  the  Carruths  had  been 
part  of  the  carefully  laid  plan. 

"  Rosalind,"  I  said,  as  it  all  gradually 
dawned  upon  me,  "  I  consider  myself 
outdone  in  every  particular.  I  resign  as 
chaperon,  business  manager,  -  -  every- 
thing, in  short,  —  and  turn  you  over,  I 
hope,  into  more  competent  hands.  And 
they  all  knew,"  I  murmured,  "Miss  Pe- 
nelope, Oliver,  every  one  but  I,  who 
thought  I  was  conducting  it  so  cleverly." 

It  is  fortunate  that  I  have  a  sense  of 
humor,  and  I  found  myself  laughing 
over  what  really  was  rather  a  humiliating 
position  for  a  supposedly  efficient  person. 

Rosalind  came  to  me  and  put  her  face 
up  to  mine.  "  Does  it  make  any  dif- 
247 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

ference,  dear  Celia,  how  it  has  come 
about,  so  long  as  it  is  ending  happily?  — 
if  only  — "  And  she  broke  off  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice. 

I  put  my  arms  around  her  and  kissed 
her  very  tenderly,  this  dear  child  whom 
I  have  loved  all  my  life,  and  who  will 
be  mine  no  longer. 

"  It  will  all  come  right,  I  know, 
dear,"  I  told  her.  "  And  I  know  you 
are  going  to  be  happy." 

I  felt  it  and  I  meant  it,  and  I  knew 
that  this  troublesome  affair  of  Orlando's 
would  count  for  nothing  in  their  future. 
He,  like  Rosalind,  had  been  gregarious, 
and  at  last  out  of  the  whole  world  each 
had  found  the  other.  But  I  could  not 
help  thinking  of  Oliver,  with  the  clear 
eyes  and  the  steady  singleness  of  pur- 
pose. Love  like  that  would  be  life  itself, 

I  thought. 

248 


ROSALIND   IN    FRONT  WITH  ORLANDO 


WE  BOW  TO  MAMMON  AND  PASS  ON 

We  sped  swiftly  in  the  car  through 
the  dark  night,  Rosalind  in  front  with 
Orlando  of  course,  Oliver  and  I  in  the 
tonneau.  For  some  moments  we  had 
been  silent.  I  leaned  back  staring  up  at 
the  stars,  the  soft  wind  on  my  cheek, 
thinking  of  their  distance  and  their 
mystery.  Oliver  leaned  toward  me,  as 
usual  divining  my  thoughts. 

"  It  all  seems  so  vast  —  incomprehensi- 
ble, does  n't  it?"  he  said.  "And  yet  when 
happiness  and  understanding  come  as  to 
those  two,  I  imagine  the  whole  great 
problem  is  solved." 

I  gave  a  queer,  provoking  little  shiver. 
Oliver  tucked  the  rug  more  closely 
around  me,  though  I  knew  he  realized 
that  the  cold  was  not  from  without. 
His  hand  touched  mine,  and  suddenly 
he  held  it  close. 

"I  love  you,"  he  said,  "And  my  love 
249 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

is  as  great  as  theirs.  Are  you  the  only 
one  among  us  who  is  indifferent?" 

"You  love  me?"  I  repeated  slowly; 
and  then  like  the  silly,  simple  thing  I  am, 
I  questioned,  "  But  you  said  you  were  n't 
coming  to  Ralston.  You  seemed  utterly 
indifferent." 

"  Darling  child,"  he  said,  "don't  you 
know  you  could  n't  be  wooed  like  any 
other  woman  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
pretending  I  did  n't  care  was  the  only 
way  to  win  you  ?  " 

And  again  my  pride  and  my  love 
struggled,  but  this  time  they  both  were 
silenced,  for  Oliver  had  drawn  me  into 
his  arms  and  his  kisses  were  on  my  lips. 

And  so,  once  more,  I  accepted  his  deci- 
sion without  protest,  for  his  is  a  strength 
not  to  be  denied. 


AFTERWARD 

God  's  in  his  heaven  : 

All 's  right  with  the  world. 

BROWNING. 

OSALIND'S  father  recovered 
from  his  illness.  It  seemed 
that  he  could  not  do  other- 
wise, surrounded  by  such 
happiness.  There  was  no  more  beaming 
person  than  he  at  both  our  weddings. 

Rosalind  and  Orlando  have  crossed  the 
ocean,  taking  the  monster  with  them. 
They  are  traveling  through  the  Old 
World,  and  believe  they  have  found  the 
real  Forest  of  Arden. 

But  as   for   Oliver  and   me,   we   are 

content  to  patter  about  here  with  the 

ponies,    so     long    as     they    shall    have 

strength   to   carry  us  to   our  old   loved 

251 


ON    THE    ROAD   TO   ARDEN 

haunts.  It  makes  small  difference  where 
we  go,  for  the  great  Peace  has  come  into 
our  hearts. 

Have  we  found  Arden,  I  wonder? 
Perhaps,  however  happy  one  is,  the 
goal  lies  always  just  ahead. 

For  as  I  journey  farther  upon  the  road 
and  see  it  unfolding,  little  by  little,  be- 
fore me,  I  believe  with  Ulysses  in  the 
words  of  the  poet,  — 

Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethro' 

Gleams  that  untravelFd  world,  whose  margin  fades 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  046  249     9 


